


Beat Around The Bush

by shawsameen



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canonical Alternate Universe, F/F, Neighbors, Slow Burn, background john/joss, tags TBA but warnings are before each chapter, this has some in-universe elements but it's definitely an au in itself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawsameen/pseuds/shawsameen
Summary: Her lips are plump and full but there’s no sign of damage. They’re nice lips.And they’re pursed, because… ah, Root’s staring, and she’s not being very subtle about it.(AKA the AU where Shaw is Root's mysterious, hot neighbor who also happens to be an underground cage fighter. Root's incredibly gay with a checkered past, so at least that part's canon. Shenanigans ensue!)





	1. No Bodily Fluids Allowed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here i am, not even a full week after finishing my last multi chap fic and back for more. this is vastly different than summer and i plan for it to be longer, though i can't promise i'll be able to update as quickly _because_ it's sort of different than what i usually write and i wanna get it right. but do expect banter (because you can't not when it comes to shoot), and some team machine elements (because you can't not when it comes to me), and i hope you guys enjoy this one!
> 
> also i apparently think i'm funny for that triple entendre of a title. root would be proud

**PART ONE**

“Don’t get so worked up, Harry, I’m only a few minutes late.”

Root sucks her teeth in irritation as she misses her door’s lock for the third time, the key glinting off the metal. She’s got her cell phone pinned between her cheek and shoulder and she can’t make out much through the dark, wavy curtain that is her hair falling over her eyes with the angle. She tries again. Fails again. Her muscles are beginning to strain beneath the weight of the many bags she’s got hanging from both of her forearms and she blows out a breath in a useless attempt to get her hair out of the way, but the strands just fall back into place.

“Seventeen minutes, to be exact,” Harold replies, tinny voice filling her good ear. She knows he doesn’t _try_ to sound like a smart ass, but sometimes you can’t be as intelligent as Harold is without occasionally being a know-it-all. Despite that, she lets it slide. She knows he’s just worried about her even before he says it. “And you know why I’m worked up.”

She acknowledges that last part with a noncommittal hum but doesn’t outright comment on it, instead saying, “I’d have been on time if _Zoe stopped leaving her things at my place._ ”

There’s a brief noise as Harold yanks the phone away from his ear with the sudden increased volume of Root's voice, then a sigh, and then the sound of shuffling as he unmistakably hands the phone over. In the short moment that passes, Root fails to lock her door for the fifth and sixth times.

“But you have so much room,” Zoe says in lieu of a proper greeting. Root can practically see the grin on her face. “And to be fair, I’m not leaving my stuff on purpose. I just keep forgetting them.”

“Well, I’ve got multiple reusable grocery bags filled with your crap and I’m dropping a few of them to the floor because my arm’s giving out and I have to lock up my apartment before Harry has a panic attack.”

“He heard that, and he looks, hmm, _displeased_. Oh, wait. He wants the phone back.”

“Root, I just want to be sure you’re safe,” Harold says, the frown evident in his voice.

“I _am_ safe. Or at least trying to be,” she mutters the last part under her breath before letting all of the bags hanging from her left arm slide to the floor with a heavy clunk, flips her hair back with her hand and fits her key into the doorknob. “There. Finally. I’m on my way now, okay? And I’m _fine_ , Harold, don’t worry.”

She hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, shoving it into her back pocket before bending down to pick up the discarded bags. There’s at least three different hair straighteners poking out at her. Why Zoe needs that many, Root doesn’t know, but it’d serve her right if one of them broke with the fall. Maybe then she’d stop forgetting her things every time she came over.

Root turns just in time to see her neighbor walking up to her own door, the aloof expression that’s ever present on her face doing nothing against the fact that she’s an undeniable knockout. And despite knowing from past experience that it won’t be returned, Root offers a smile—one that nearly falters when she takes one look at the inch-long gash marring the end of her eyebrow, leading into a fresh, crescent-shaped black eye. The cut is held together by precise-looking stitches, but it must hurt like something fierce.

It’s not the first time Root’s seen her with some sort of facial injury. Bruising, mostly, but just last week they’d been getting their mail at the same time and she’d had what was no doubt a busted lip. It’s healed by now, Root notices; her lips are plump and full but there’s no sign of damage. They’re nice lips.

And they’re pursed, because… ah, Root’s staring, and she’s not being very subtle about it.

She smiles, not apologetically but she knows it’s full of every ounce of charm she can muster in her body, which is a lot. Even so, it doesn't seem to have much of a working effect in this particular moment. “Nice day out, huh?”

Her Neighbor (and she will remain to be Her Neighbor because just shy of putting her hacking skills to use, no amount of snooping has enlightened Root to her actual name) just raises her uninjured eyebrow a fraction and looks down at the bags of junk dangling from her arms. Her expression doesn’t change and she definitely doesn’t ask, but Root explains anyway.

“Meeting a couple of friends for lunch,” she says, then lets out a little laugh. “Which I just remembered I’m already really late for. I’ll catch you later?”

Root doesn’t wait for a response, knowing she’s even less likely to get one from her than a smile, and ambles past her towards the elevators. She thinks Her Neighbor might’ve watched her as she walked down the hallway (because she knows what it feels like to have eyes on her back), but when Root chances a glance over her shoulder she’s already slipped inside her own apartment, the hall now empty.

She tries not to spend the elevator ride down to the lobby and the short walk to the diner thinking about the fresh cut on Her Neighbor’s eyebrow, and is thankful that she’s currently too encumbered to bring her own hand up to trace the poorly healed gash behind her right ear. It burns as if it has a mind of its own, like it knows she’s thinking about it, pink and puffy and ugly. Her hair hides it well enough, but it’s sort of hard to forget about it and how she got it when the very reason coincides with why Harold had been so worried about her for being late to lunch, and why she has to watch her back every time she steps outside.

Luckily she arrives at the diner before she can delve too deep in her memories, pushing them aside with a broad smile once she spots Zoe and Harold tucked into a booth in the far corner. Harold at least gets up to try and relieve her of some of the bags, but Zoe’s got her mouth shoved full with curly fries and dangles one in an apologetic offering to Root once she collapses down in the seat across from her with a huff of air.

Root eyes it for all of a second before taking it from her and picking it to pieces, munching on them as she says, “Thanks for waiting for me to get here before ordering.”

“You’re nearly a half an hour late, I was famished. Finch here was too busy worrying himself sick to eat.” Zoe ignores the withering look Harold gives her in favor of downing half of her coke in three long pulls, smirking at Root from around the straw.

“Yeah, sorry about that. After I hung up I ran into my neighbor.”

Zoe perks up in interest but is briefly prevented from asking the question that is clearly written all over her face by the waitress walking up to the table to take Root and Harold’s orders. Root picks a chicken club and a coffee, Harold asks for a cup of the soup of the day, and the waitress is barely finished confirming their order when Zoe leans forward. “You mean the tiny, black-clad mystery babe?”

Harold knits his eyebrows together in confusion.

Root explains, “You know the one. Apartment on the right, we share a wall?”

“Oh,” he says, and Root doesn’t miss the slight disappointment in his tone. Probably because Her Neighbor had shown just as much manners to him as she does everybody else and Harold, because he’s Harold, was a bit miffed by it. It could also be his natural paranoia though, so Root decides not to call him out on it. “The one with the loud and questionable music taste.”

“Harold, I think you may be the last person on Earth allowed to call somebody else’s music taste questionable.”

“Zoe’s got a point,” Root says with a twist of her lips when Harold gives her a “help me” look from behind his glasses.

“I _always_ have a point,” Zoe grins. “For example, inviting you two out to lunch today.”

Root and Harold watch with differing levels of interest as Zoe digs around inside her purse before producing three small rectangles of paper, splaying them out like playing cards with her fingers. Root has to narrow her eyes and tilt her head a little to properly read the words, but Harold gets there first, already making sounds of protest.

“Amateur cage fighting?”

“More like pay-per-view violence,” Harold says, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Mixed martial arts is illegal in New York.”

“Which is why these tickets are mostly formality, anyway. We pay at the door,” Zoe tells him, placing said tickets down on the table to continue picking at her food.

“Don’t you think we have enough trouble with the law as it is?”

Root gives a small smile, one without proper warmth, as she leans an elbow on the table. “Well, one of us, anyway.”

Harold looks at her in sympathy before turning stern eyes back on to Zoe. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“These things have been going on for years, Finch. It’s fine. I’m pretty sure the NYPD has more to worry about than this, and it’s just one evening. Root, you deserve a night out.”

“Usually a night out consists of girl talk at a bar, fending off unwanted male advances,” Root replies, though she can’t really argue Zoe’s point. She’s spent the past few months cooped up in her apartment binging shows on Netflix and fighting the urge to get into trouble with her laptop. In other words she’s bored, and itching for some excitement.

Zoe seems to know her too well because she says, “I figured you’d rather see two muscular women go at it in a ring than have a sweaty dude try to grind up on you in a club.”

“You’re showing a severe amount of foresight.”

“Also, the tickets were payment for a favor I did for a friend.”

“Ah, that’s more like it.”

“But hey, I thought about you when I got them!” Zoe points out, sounding indignant. She waves a curly fry around as she talks and narrowly avoids smacking Harold in the side of the face with it, though only because _he_ has the foresight to scoot down the bench a few inches beforehand.

Root sighs and uses a finger to slide one of the tickets towards her, reading the information beneath the headline. The fight’s tonight at eight, so clearly Zoe was hoping to corner the two of them into going last minute. It’s also in Long Island. It’d be nice to get out of the city for a change, even if that means tagging along for a near two-hour car ride. To be honest, just about anything beats another night at home with takeout and a movie.

She glances up at Harold, who’s wearing a pained expression on his face like he knows Root’s going to say yes and even though he’d rather not go, he will for her. It makes her feel all warm inside but she hides it behind a grin as she nudges one of the tickets in his direction. He watches it with disdain for a few seconds before sighing and swiping it off the tabletop.

“Alright, but if I get any bodily fluids on me we are _leaving_.”

Root grins just as the waitress, who doesn’t manage to hide the quizzical look on her face, arrives with their food. Harold colors an amusing shade of pink, glancing at the waitress apologetically and burying his head in his hands as soon as she’s turned her back on them to check up on the other customers.

“Oh, dear, this is going to be terrible,” Harold sighs, voice muffled by his palms just as Zoe finally lets the laughter she’s barely managed to keep a lid on bubble out of her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me on tumblr @anadermas!


	2. One Hell Of A Headache (And It's Not Root)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first time i've double posted like, ever but i'm just excited about this story i guess!
> 
>  **warnings for** descriptions of MMA fighting, nothing too explicit though. most of my information pertaining to illegal cage fighting is coming from google lmao

Shaw keeps her head angled down as she pushes her way through the overactive crowd, mindful of the fact that she’s short and how that therefore puts her injured eye in the vicinity of many potentially dangerous arms. She’s already had to dodge a drunk dude’s beer spilling over her front, probably would’ve kicked his ass for it if his smarter and more sober friend hadn’t butted in, muttering, “shit, man, that’s The Alpha,” in a slightly frightened voice as he dragged the drunkard away.

Shaw had smirked at that. Stupid fucking nickname or no, it’s always amusing whenever she meets someone who is visibly afraid of her.

But no one seems to be paying attention to her now, the prelim going on taking a turn for the nasty (or entertaining, she supposes) with the unmistakable sound of bone meeting fist. She can’t see over most of the crowd from where she’s at, but seconds later there’s two heavy thuds over the cheering and Shaw knows that one of the fighters has dropped the other in a hold. By the time she gets to the vantage point she’d set her eyes on as soon as she walked into the place, the fight’s over and the winner’s grinning triumphantly through a nose spouting a waterfall of blood.

She huffs a laugh at the sight. The first and only time she’d had her nose smashed like that had been a while back, but John had been more squeamish about seeing her with two tampons crammed into her nostrils than the injury itself. She’d even entertained the thought of leaving them around for him to find, but figured it wasn’t worth the risk of Bear swallowing one of them whole.

“Surprised you showed up,” a voice calls out beside her, half-shouting over the noise. When she looks she finds Grice standing there, a mostly untouched beer in his hand, eyes fixed on the crowd.

“Maybe I wanted to see Brooks get her ass handed to her,” she replies.

Grice grins, uncaring of the fact that Shaw’s not exactly rooting for his sparring partner. Truthfully she doesn’t really have an opinion on Brooks, good or bad, but the other girl seems to have a thing or two against her. Which doesn’t bother Shaw in the slightest; most people do. But she's on better terms with the other fighter, despite belonging to different gyms.

“How’s the eye?” Grice asks, indicating his own face with a hand.

She shrugs. It stings whenever she frowns, which is a lot considering she’d spent the past two days in John’s company while she was on painkillers, unable to drive or cook for herself. But mostly she forgets about it until she sees her reflection in the mirror or, like earlier today, her kind-of-weird neighbor half-checks her out, half-looks over her injuries in concern.

That’d been kind of amusing, even though it’s not the first time Shaw’s caught her doing it. She probably thinks Shaw’s in some sort of abusive relationship though, and that could become a problem in the long run. She’s just not one for explaining herself to strangers. Or people in general. It’s usually none of their business anyway.

“Won the fight.”

“You _always_ win the fight.” Grice rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall as the announcer heads into the cage for the main bout. They fall into companionable silence, watching as the crowd erupts with newfound excitement. She catches a brief glimpse of Hersh and Brooks’ stern faces beneath a passing spotlight right before the announcer finishes reading off Brooks’ stats, and she enters the cage, bouncing from foot to foot and stretching her neck muscles.

“And from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, give it up for Anna ‘The Annihilator’ Mueller!” The announcer bellows, and Shaw smirks as Mueller ducks in and she feels Grice’s eyes on the side of her face.

“She’s really as good as you say she is, huh?”

“Wanna bet on it?”

Grice scoffs, “I know better than to wager on anything when you’re involved.”

“Fought her once, she almost had me.” In fact, Anna had been the one who’d crushed Shaw’s nose that one time, but Shaw had trapped her in a leg hold that had ended the fight a few minutes into the second round. “We’ve sparred every now and then since.”

Grice doesn’t reply, just turns his attention back to the cage as the bell rings and kicks off the start of the fight. Brooks and Mueller spend all of a second circling each other before Mueller makes the first move, leaning in with a cross that Brooks counters. Grice shoots Shaw another look as Brooks’ fist makes contact with the side of her jaw, but the look dissipates as soon as Mueller, recovering fast, gets a hold on Brooks arm before she has a chance to drop it back to her side and uses her weight to flip them on to the mat. She traps Brooks’ arm in an omoplata lock, leg curled over her bicep and effectively pinning her in place.

Brooks tries to escape, but Mueller frees one of her hands and swings it down and under, connecting her gloved knuckles with Brooks’ cheekbone until blood begins to drip out on to the mat and Brooks taps out of the fight.

As Mueller’s announced winner, Shaw slides her eyes over to Grice with a smirk. He looks a bit shocked, to the say the least, and she waits for the deafening crowd to die down a little bit before snickering.

“Told you so. You were right to chicken out of the bet.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “My mom didn’t raise a fool. She’s fuckin’ fast.”

Shaw pushes off the wall with her shoulders, giving him a two-fingered salute as she backs up around the outskirts of the crowd towards the locker rooms. “You should go against her sometime, avenge Brooks’ loss.”

“I learned that lesson when you pummeled me to a pulp way back when. I told you, mom didn’t raise a fool,” he calls out after her, and she turns around with a smirk, weaving her way through stragglers.

The locker room is fuller than Shaw expected it to be when she steps inside. Anna’s sitting on a bench, one of her gloves already cut and unwrapped. She’s unwinding the tape from the other and talking to three people standing around her when she catches Shaw’s eye and stands, beckoning her over with a grin.

“No hard feelings for kicking your team member’s ass?”

Shaw crinkles her eyes in mirth. “No hard feelings for kicking _your_ team member’s ass?”

“Oh, she tagged you good,” Anna replies, nodding at Shaw’s stitches. “You tagged her better, though. The swelling looked like something nasty.”

“Heh. Brooks is gonna have one hell of a headache.”

Anna breaks out in a broad grin before turning to the side and indicating with her still half-gloved hand at the trio of people behind her. “That’s my friend Zoe. And those are _her_ friends Harold and Root, was it?”

“Holy shit, black-clad mystery babe!”

Shaw raises an eyebrow as the Zoe girl hisses none-too-subtly and whacks the tall chick standing next to her in the arm, drawing Shaw’s attention to said chick who, believe it or not, also happens to be her neighbor with the definite knack for checking her out.

“Well,” her neighbor— _Root—_ starts, lips curling into a crooked smile. “I did say I’d catch you later, didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry root will get to see shaw fight really soon :)


	3. So, Some Bodily Fluids Allowed

“I met Zoe two years back, when I was still in college. Never had to call on her, um, services until recently though.” Anna fiddles with the label on her beer, eyes dropping for a brief second before she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “Helped me and my sister out of a bind.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I trust everything worked out okay?” They’re all gathered at a high table, Zoe sitting beside Root, Harold on her other side, with Anna, who nods and smiles gratefully, opting to stand. After the oh-nice-meeting-you-here moment that was Root running into Her Neighbor in a musty underground cage fighting locker room of all places, Anna had invited them all for a round of celebratory drinks back in the city. Zoe had jumped at the chance, Root as well but without Zoe’s I-wanna-get-properly-smashed enthusiasm, Harold looked like he was just going to follow their leads, and Her Neighbor had flicked her eyes over Root for a moment before agreeing with a small shrug.

And Root guesses she can stop referring to her as Her Neighbor now, because Anna had properly introduced them. Shaw. Her name’s Shaw. And it turns out the many bruises and lacerations Root’s seen on her since moving in, including the ones she has now, are the side-effects of being one of the most brutal fighters on the illegal mixed martial arts scene. 

So, not a victim of abuse, like Root had sort of suspected. Which is good, because while she’s supposed to be keeping her head relatively low, she’s not sure she would’ve been able to stop herself from getting creative with a laptop had her imagination started running wild with possible scenarios explaining Shaw’s injuries. To say the least, “amateur cage fighter” hadn’t been on the steadily growing list.

“I owe you big time, Zo. If there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Even if it’s more free passes into a fight.”

“The free passes sound good. I think Root enjoyed herself, right?” Root glances to the side to find Zoe looking at her with a knowing smile playing around the edges of her lips. With a smug, meaningful tone, she asks Anna, “Do you know when Shaw’s fighting next?”

Anna glances over to where Shaw’s at now, her back to them as she leans it against the bar and chats up a pretty-faced guy who’d been making eyes at her from the very moment they walked into the place. Root’s been trying not to look over at them since Shaw sloped over to talk to him because really, it’s none of her business and she doesn’t know why she’s fixated. Okay, maybe she can acknowledge the small—and it’s  _ very _ small—thrum of something that feels kind of like jealousy itching her skin, but it’s not pure jealousy, not the ugly type that’s born out of territory being encroached upon. More like, Root has found Shaw seriously hot ever since the first time she saw her and she’s interested in what fucking her would be like, but Shaw’s probably going to fuck this dude from the bar instead.

Which is all well and good. She doesn’t even know if Shaw’s into women. And either way, they don’t know each other very well (or at all, really), and Root’s only ever checked her out in passing. She’s not exactly in the habit of propositioning her incredibly attractive neighbors. 

“She has one set up in about three weeks,” Anna’s voice brings Root’s attention back to the table and she darts her eyes away from Shaw’s profile, side of her mouth tipped up in a flirty smile as she says something to the guy that makes him chuckle. “I definitely recommend seeing Shaw in the cage, but I can get you into something sooner.”

“Nah, that works. I think Harold can use the prep time.”

Root properly checks into the conversation, grinning at Harold as Zoe bumps him with her shoulder. He’s their designated driver and the water he’s currently nursing nearly splashes over the lapels of his jacket with the jostling.

“Hey, at least it isn’t bodily fluids,” Zoe points out in response to the reproachful look he gives her.

Harold dabs his coat with a napkin. “Is it so hard to grasp why I don’t want to be caught in an aerial spray of blood?”

“It’s happened before,” Anna shrugs when Zoe looks to her.

Swirling the straw around the last dregs of her cocktail, Root spreads her lips in a devious little smile. “Harry’s not against  _ all _ bodily fluids, just ones that don’t belong to Nathan.”

He makes a noise that sounds distinctly like a squeak, and Zoe reaches over to pat him lightly on the shoulder even as she tries to stifle her laughter. Meanwhile, Anna watches with an expression caught between amusement and secondhand embarrassment, and Root sucks up the remainder of her drink until the straw’s making little suction sounds against the ice at the bottom of the glass.

“Why do I continue to hang around you two?” Harold looks to the ceiling for answer.

“Because we’re a good laugh.”

“And you love us,” Root supplies.

Harold mumbles something underneath his breath, pushing his glasses up his nose, but they’re interrupted by Shaw slinking back over to the table. At this point it’s like Root’s programmed to check her out every time she sees her; she can’t help but drop her eyes to the skin on her chest exposed by the low cut of her black T-shirt, but she thinks she does a good job of averting them before Shaw notices because she’s pretty sure she knows what Shaw’s come here for. A few seconds later, her suspicions are confirmed.

“Hey, I’m gonna take off,” she jerks her head in a small indication towards the guy paying up at the bar, speaking mostly to Anna, but she glances around the rest of the table with the tail end of the sentence. “It was, uh, cool meeting you guys.”

It doesn’t sound entirely convincing, more like Shaw’s trying to be polite for reasons Root can’t deduce (because it’s not like she’s shown the same effort in the many times they’ve run into each other in the hallway before), but Harold looks pleased and Zoe nods. Root offers a smile when Shaw watches her for a millisecond with a guarded expression. 

But it melts into a cute little eye roll that makes Root feel like she won a prize when she tilts her head and says, “See you back at home, then.”

Still, Root decidedly does not watch Shaw slink out of the bar with the guy in tow, looking all shades of self-righteous like somebody's going to clap him on the shoulder for going home with someone as hot as she is.

*

It’s a little past one in the morning when Root clambers up the steps to her building, managing to successfully punch in the door code on only her second try. She’s not  _ drunk _ , really—okay, maybe a little bit, but it’s mostly just a strong buzz and she probably won't have a hangover in the morning. She waves her hand over her shoulder without looking to let Harold know that she’s good, he can drive away now, but it’s not until the door closes and locks itself behind her that the headlights stream through the lobby before disappearing completely.

She decides to take the stairs in order to clear her head a bit, but also the idea of riding in the elevator makes her feel a little dizzy. The three flights up seem like they take forever to climb until she’s suddenly on her floor and using the low streetlight from the window at the end of the hall to navigate her way to her apartment door. She stands in front of it for a few minutes trying to deduce which of the three keys to use, gets sidetracked when her stomach growls and she tries to remember if she has any leftovers sitting in her fridge, and then the door to her right opens and slams closed, startling her and making her drop the stupid keyring altogether. 

When she straightens back up (with some effort, mind you) she half expects to see Shaw staring down at her. Maybe Root had been making too much noise. Shaw seems like the type to like her sleep.

But instead of Shaw it’s the guy from the bar, looking a bit dazed and confused. Even through the alcohol she can tell he’s just been used and unceremoniously kicked out, though the way he’s only half-dressed is a bit of a help too. He’s got both shoes on but the belt on his pants is unfastened and his dress shirt hangs open, revealing an untucked tank top, and his jacket is bundled in his arms. 

He glances down at Root belatedly, as if he’s only just noticed her half-squatting in front of her door, keys dangling from her fingertips. She’s feeling weirdly smug about the whole thing, like Shaw not letting him stay over somehow has something to do with Root. She can’t help the lopsided smirk that curls slowly on her lips.

“At least nobody else is around to witness your walk of shame,” she murmurs a bit meanly, slotting her key in the lock and letting herself into her apartment without so much as a backwards glance.


	4. As She Walks In The Room, Scented And Tall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact the dude shaw tooted and booted was tomas sdfjsddf
> 
> ch. title from the rip by portishead. also yay for daily updates!! i'm just popping these babies out aren't i

Much to her annoyance, Shaw wakes up early the next morning, her eye throbbing like a son of a bitch. She winces at the state of her bedding as she slips out from beneath the covers, making a note to do a load today as she goes through her morning ritual. She makes herself a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausages, and toast to absorb the painkillers she washes down with her coffee, frowning down at her phone when it vibrates on the table.

For a brief moment she thinks it’s the guy from last night, then remembers that she hadn’t given him her number in the  _ very _ small window of time that had passed between her orgasm and promptly kicking him out of her place. He’d been a good enough lay, she supposes; got the job done in the end, but not good enough to hold him to her three night rule. So, no number privileges.

The text’s from John, telling her that he’s stopping by with Bear within the hour and  _ can you take care of him because I’m going to be pretty swamped for the next few days. _

SHAW > Anything for my favorite dude  
  
SHAW > And i meant the dog

She doesn’t wait for a reply before padding back into her bedroom, deciding she’ll clean up her dishes when she returns from starting her laundry. She ties her hair back in its standard low, messy ponytail, slides on a pair of tapered sweats she fishes out of her drawer and opts not to wear a bra just because she doesn’t feel like twisting it on right now. Wedging her phone in her back pocket, she makes quick work of stripping her bed and grabbing her softener and detergent from the closet, remembering last minute to shove her bare feet into a random (and conveniently placed) pair of boots right before she slips out the front door and heads downstairs. 

The laundry room is empty when Shaw gets there and she feels a little bit grateful for it. She almost always gets cornered by the nosey old lady in 2C, it’s like she has a fucking Shaw radar and if she’s not trying to set Shaw up with her greasy-looking nephew, then she’s watching her with her beady little eyes that Shaw kind of-sometimes wants to pluck out of her head. Probably making judgments on Shaw’s “lifestyle” like those conservative old white women with no actual  _ lives _ like to do.

Shaw smirks, picturing the scandalized look on the lady’s face if she ever caught Shaw bringing a woman home during her snooping. Or she could put all her tricks to good use and make sure she was showing another girl a rather fun, vocal time. 2C’s the apartment right below hers. It’d make for a nice win-win situation.

Her imagination is interrupted by her phone vibrating in her pocket, just as she’s done dumping detergent into the washer and setting the cycle. 

JOHN > This is how you treat someone who watched over you while you were high off your ass on painkillers?

SHAW > For one, you’re sort of obligated to considering you’re my brother. Two, you’re a shit caretaker anyways

JOHN > SaMEAN

SHAW > Are you brooding?

JOHN > Maybe

There’s the sound of footsteps shuffling down the stairs and she sighs, locking her phone again so she can map out a last minute escape. She’s settled for her usual tactic of being brusque and disinterested when a familiar figure rounds the corner at the end of the stairwell, and it’s not Lady 2C.

“Oh, good morning,” Root greets, a small white laundry basket supported on her hip. Shaw’s surprise is gone almost as quickly as it came and she manages a short nod right before Root says with a teasing smile, “Turn in early last night?”

Shaw rolls her eyes but doesn’t really know what to say to that (and Root’s aware of it, based on the way her smile deepens), so she chooses to ignore it. A few beats later, though, “So I guess we have mutual friends, huh.”

“Technically, I only met Anna for the first time yesterday, but I guess so. Small world, hm?” Root walks around the other side of the washers so that she’s using the one mirroring Shaw’s, opening the lid and dropping her clothes in increments with a content look on her face. She’s… cheery, is the only word Shaw can think of to currently describe her. Shaw supposes she’s  _ always _ cheery, or at least every time they’ve bumped into each other in the hall before, but there’s something different about it now. Like she knows something Shaw doesn’t.

Shaw narrows her eyes a little bit. She’s always thought Root was a tad weird, though not in the creepy neighbor way, but the I-can’t-get-a-good-read-on-you one. And that apparently has not changed now that Shaw knows her unsurprisingly (and fittingly) weird name. 

“I didn’t peg you for a mixed martial artist, but it kind of makes sense now,” Root shuts the lid and starts the washer, then skims her eyes over Shaw’s shoulders, bare and muscled under the straps of her black tank top. “You know, the bruises.”

She feels a smile playing at her lips. The bruises, right. “Yeah, caught you staring once or twice.”

“Though really, who can blame me?” Root’s tone is innocent but her face says,  _ we both know we’re talking about something different here but the game is fun and I’m enjoying playing it. _

Shaw snorts, snatching her detergent and fabric softener off the adjacent washer and turning towards the stairs, knowing that Root’s following her and probably unabashedly checking out her backside. Root doesn’t stay behind her for long though, using her longer legs to her advantage so that she and Shaw are almost shoulder-to-shoulder once they’re rounding the next flight of stairs. 

“You’re fighting in a few weeks, right?”

“Why, you looking to see me in action?”

“Maybe,” Root draws out with a grin. “Or maybe Anna just told me.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a fight lined up in Queens against some dude from Chicago. Thinks he’s got the win already just because I’m a woman.”

Root wrinkles her nose as they step on to the landing on their floor, murmuring, “Bad code,” but before Shaw can debate if she even wants to ask what that means, she hears the telltale sound of metal jingling and then a furry, four-legged body is crashing into her knees.

She nearly goes down with the weight, manages to catch her balance and kneel down properly as Bear licks her chin and cheeks in excitement. “I missed you too, boy,” she grins, momentarily forgetting that Root’s still standing beside her and choosing to ignore the half-surprised, half-amused expression playing on her features in her peripheral once she remembers.

“I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes, I’m going to be late for class,” John’s voice is low and grumbly and broody and he’s got the face to match it once Shaw looks up, rolling her eyes. 

“Relax, baby. I was doing my laundry.” She stands but keeps a hand on Bear’s head, idly scratching behind his ears as she gestures at John and looks to Root. “Uh, that’s John, my brother. This is Root, she’s in the apartment next door.”

John spares Root a friendly smile in greeting before handing over Bear’s leash to Shaw. “Listen, I gotta go, I’m running really late. It was nice meeting you,” he says in a rush, not bothering to use the elevator and instead dashing down the stairs behind them.

They stand there for a moment, mostly in silence save for Bear’s panting. When she slides her eyes over to Root, she’s not surprised to see that she’s still got that amused smile stretched across her lips.

“You have a brother?”

“Foster brother,” Shaw grumbles. “He’s in the police academy so he’s even more uptight than usual, which is altogether ironic because he can’t follow rules for shit.”

“And you’re an illegal cage fighter.” Humming, Root leans over and lets Bear sniff the back of her hand, petting the top of his head when he gives his approval with a tiny lick. “Rule breaking must run in the family.”

“Something like that,” Shaw shrugs, then grins proudly. “Bear’s the only good one.”

“Oh, I’m sure, the spiked leather collar is very angelic looking.”

“Yeah, I thought so when I bought it. Shit, I better take him for a walk, he’s getting excited.” At the mere mentioning of the word “walk,” Bear’s tail starts thwapping violently against the linoleum where he’s sitting on his haunches. She smooths her hand down the back of his neck and looks to Root, briefly debating if she should invite her along before ultimately deciding against it. Root’s still in her pajamas, and not the functional kind like Shaw’s. Also, Shaw realizes with a mixture of annoyance and amusement when she takes a quick glance down at her feet, she’s wearing bunny house slippers. “I’ll…”

“Catch you later?” Root finishes helpfully, smiling with what Shaw presumes is the memory of last night in the locker room. Just like she did then, she rolls her eyes but it’s cushioned by the tiny twitch of a smile she feels playing at her mouth.

“Yeah, sure.” She tugs lightly on Bear’s leash so he stands. “Say goodbye to the lady, boy.”

Root huffs a fond laugh, letting Bear lick a stripe up her palm before nuzzling his head against it, then waves the two of them goodbye before slipping back into her apartment. Shaw stands there for a moment, staring at her shut door feeling… odd. She doesn’t know how to name it (isn’t entirely sure she likes it) but she also isn’t given enough time to because Bear starts whimpering, eager to go outside.

Still, she can’t help but think about Root as she walks Bear along the pavement. She’s attractive, yeah, in a hot nerd kind of way, Shaw supposes. She’s never had a thing for nerds, doesn’t think she does now either, but she can’t help but admit a part of her is a little bit intrigued whenever Root blatantly checks her out. The flirting’s kind of amusing too, even if it has been cranked up a notch now that they know each other slightly more than just neighbors.

But there’s still something… off about her. Her friend may have called Shaw mysterious, but Shaw can’t help but suspect that it’s Root who has some secrets of her own. She prides herself on her observation skills, and the way that Harold guy’s eyes kept darting from Root to everything in between hadn’t gone by her unnoticed. 

Whatever it is, it’s not Shaw’s business. It’s not like they’re going to start hooking up or anything, anyway. It’d be impractical—it’s sort of hard to uphold a three night only rule when you live right next door to each other. 

Even so, it won’t kill anyone if Shaw looks every now and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> debating making a working playlist for this because while i was searching for inspo at the beginning of this fic i found a LOT of shoot songs that make me emo. who knows, it'll probably be purely self-indulgent anyway lmao


	5. Black-Clad Mystery Babe 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd just like to say thank you guys so much for every nice comment you've not only left on this fic, but also summer. seriously the support has me a little bit floored because when i decided to write for these two i really didn't expect much feedback because i was like two years late to fandom lol. but some of you have even come over to tumblr to tell me how much you love my writing and that shit is REALLY inspiring so here's this mushy message!

Root thinks the sight of morning-faced Shaw will forever be seared into her brain. 

Forgoing a bra while wearing a tight tank top aside (which had provided a  _ particularly _ nice view), Root had also caught the faint line of a fading pillow crease on her cheek —which had been kind of endearing, though she knows better than to ever openly admit that to the woman herself. Even with the limited conversation they’ve had so far Root knows that such comments probably won’t go over too well.

The real kicker, however, had been the freckles. Root supposes she’s never actually been close enough to Shaw to notice them before, though she also assumes any face makeup would’ve covered them up anyway. And if the pillow crease had been endearing, the freckles had been positively  _ cute. _ Okay, and a little hot. Again, neither of these things are something she’d tell Shaw directly to her face, but like she said, she’s pretty sure the sight will stay with her for a long time yet.

As the next few days pass and Root finds her mind frequently wandering to thoughts of her neighbor, she knows she’s guessed right. It’s probably best that she try and occupy herself with something else, maybe pick up a new hobby or read a book, but… Shaw is incredibly intriguing. And spending her free time trying to figure out what makes her tick, Root quickly realizes, is way more fun than knitting.

Root had dialed up the flirting that morning in the laundry room and the way Shaw seemed to be half caught between irritation and amusement was a huge pay off, in Root’s opinion. The twitch of her eyebrow and the purse of her lips was a pretty good look. To be honest Root could’ve kept it up all morning had they not been interrupted by the dog, but  _ that _ shift in Shaw’s behavior had also been a pleasant surprise. It had even seemed weirdly intimate, like she was seeing a side of Shaw that most people didn’t, her smile bright and wide and infectious.

Root can’t help but smile now with the memory. Bear  _ was _ pretty cute, but... Hm.

She suddenly frowns into the carton of orange chicken she’s been idly poking at with her chopsticks, knuckles going white around the twin pieces of wood. She’d been right, she really needs to find something else to take up her time. Shaw’s worming her way into her thoughts and Root can’t have that, she can’t be distracted and she can’t get attached because  _ anything _ can happen at a moment’s notice. This isn’t the first apartment block she’s lived in since being uprooted from her life, after all, and she ought to remember that. Things can get messy if she isn’t careful. 

There’s something poking in her side and she glances down to see Zoe’s big toe lightly prodding her; Zoe’s watching her from behind her own to-go container when she brings her eyes back up, that scrutinizing expression on her face that Root knows means she won’t be able to fend off the inevitable and oncoming questions. She sends a last forlorn gaze to the episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine that’s been playing on low, as if she’d been paying attention to it in her however-long Shaw reverie. Anyway, she’s seen this one already.

She sighs in order to let Zoe know that she’s ready for it, and Zoe doesn’t miss a beat. “You back down on Earth with the rest of us?”

“I was just daydreaming,” Root tips her shoulder in a shrug. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right. You had that mopey look on your face, it’s hard to ignore when you’re not your usually perky self,” Zoe replies, then lets out a tiny sigh of her own before setting her food down on the coffee table and retracting her legs so that she can fold them beneath her. “Look, I’m not saying you have to be okay with”—she waves her hand around—“all this. Actually, it’s normal to be completely fucking upset about it and I’d be worried if you weren’t, but you don’t have to keep it bottled up. You know?”

Root offers a smile she knows is probably weak. “I know. Honestly, I really was just daydreaming…” Zoe shoots her a disbelieving look and Root adds, “...at first.”

She thinks of Shaw again and turns her eyes back down to her untouched and rapidly growing cold food. She actually hasn’t seen much of her since that morning in the laundry room at the beginning of the week, though she also hasn’t left her apartment all that much in light of having literally nothing to do (or, rather, not being allowed to do anything she’d like to). 

But she can sometimes hear things coming from Shaw’s apartment through their shared wall, connected as it is on one side by Root’s bedroom. She doesn’t know what room lies on the other side, if it’s the living room or Shaw’s own bedroom, but just yesterday she’d heard the muffled and repeated sounds of thumping—and grunting; god, that had been distracting, though it wasn’t like Root had been doing anything important. To be honest, though, her mind had decided to take the practical route instead of going straight to the gutter and she figured Shaw had been doing some sort of training. Hitting a punching bag, most likely.

“All right, spill,” Zoe suddenly says, leaning forward with interest, a smile on her face. “Because we aren’t talking boring, spacey daydreams, by the way you just blushed.”

Root frowns. “I’m not blushing. I just—”

“Oh, cut it, you’re growing pinker by the second,” Zoe teases. And then Root watches as the moment a light bulb figuratively flicks on above her head, her eyes lighting up. “It’s the mystery babe, isn’t it?”

“She has a name, you know.”

“I like mystery babe. It’s fitting. And don’t dodge the question, I saw the way you were looking at her the other night. I mean, I can’t blame you, because:  _ babe _ .”

“You’re annoyingly intuitive sometimes.”

“It’s why I’m so good at my job, love,” Zoe replies lightly.

“And what’s that, again?” Zoe smirks at her but doesn’t answer, just pushes herself off the couch and snatches one of the unopened cartons of food before heading toward the door. “Wait, where are you going?”

Zoe winks at her over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in a sec, tell me what happens!”

Root doesn’t get a chance to remind Zoe that she’s seen this episode too before the other girl is gone, the door falling shut behind her with a soft  _ thunk _ . She sits there staring at the empty space a moment debating if she even wants to follow her, though ultimately decides against it in favor of wandering into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Root’s returned to the couch again, the TV turned up a little higher, when Zoe slips back inside the apartment five minutes later, and decidedly not alone.

Root blinks at the sight of Shaw, walking through her doorway and popping a whole steamed dumpling into her mouth using just her fingers. She chews… well,  _ rudely _ would be the word that most people would use, but Root sort of finds it amusing before she realizes she should be annoyed with Zoe for intruding like this. Because Shaw’s also staring resolutely into the container like the potstickers are the most interesting thing in the room at the moment and there’s a barely noticeable twitch to her feet like she’s trying really hard not to turn back around and leave.

Though Root has to admit that a part of her is more than a little pleased with the entire situation, the traitorous part of her that thoroughly enjoys the fact that thinking about Shaw is pretty much eighty percent of how her day passes. It’s not even sexual. Well, not mostly.  _ Mostly _ she’s thinking about pushing her buttons, getting under her skin, flirting with her until Shaw succumbs to either the amusement or annoyance and does something unpredictable, something that’ll add a little more excitement to Root’s ironically uneventful-but-dangerous life.

It must show on her face now because Zoe’s lips stretch in a triumphant little grin and Root rolls her eyes while Shaw’s busy stuffing her face, because yes, Zoe’s a meddler, but she’s good at her job. Whatever that really is. 

“We’re just binging Brooklyn Nine-Nine,” Zoe says, walking over to the couch and foregoing her previous spot in favor of slipping into the single armchair to Root’s left. Root has to prevent herself from snickering—she thinks she’s such the tactician. “You watch it?”

Shaw glances from the TV to the only vacant seat—on the sofa, next to Root—and back to the TV again. Really, she looks like she’s going to say “thanks for the grub” and leave, but she’s full of endless surprises, Root notes, when she instead jerks her head in what’s apparently supposed to be in the negative before slowly lowering herself down onto the couch. And because it’s on the larger side (thanks to Harold’s money), she doesn’t have to push herself so much against the arm in order to give herself some more space.

“No,” Shaw decides to verbalize, reaching for a different food container without asking—again, Root watches in amusement—and flipping it open. She tears a packet of chopsticks with her teeth before digging into what is apparently Mongolian beef with fervor. “I don’t watch much TV,” she says belatedly, mouth full.

“Oh, it’s great. Look—you see her?” Zoe points at the screen just as Rosa appears, traces of a scowl on her face and… yeah, it’s a familiar look. Root watches as Shaw raises an eyebrow, apparently also having realized Zoe’s point before she’s even made it, but lets her go on anyway. “Black-clad mystery babe 2.0.”

Shaw snorts, then takes a moment to look her over, cocking her head in thought when Rosa pulls out a huge hunting knife. She doesn’t actually get to say anything because Zoe speaks up again, “See? Told you. Root thinks she’s hot.”

At that, Root rolls her eyes because she can practically  _ feel _ the smugness radiating off the other woman in droves. She does lift her shoulder in a shrug and smile at Shaw when she finds her watching her curiously, though. “Well, she  _ is _ hot.”

Shaw doesn’t reply, just watches her for a moment longer before shoveling some more food in her mouth. Root thinks that particular subject has been abandoned when Shaw says around a mouthful of onions and beef, “Yeah, she is.”

So, yeah. Into women, most likely.

If anything, Zoe has practically turned into a blob of pure self-satisfaction with the words, though she is studiously staring at her phone with nothing but a hundred-watt smirk on her face when Root chances a look at her.

They manage to watch the rest of the episode in only slightly tense silence; Shaw seems content in her quest to eat all of the takeout and frankly, Root’s content to let her. Root doesn’t feel awkward, but she can tell Shaw’s taking comfort in the food and it’s probably the only thing keeping her here. There’s a line to her shoulders like she’s hyper aware of everything around her and Root almost laughs because, really, that should be  _ her  _ given her circumstances. 

The line gets tauter when Zoe suddenly announces that she has to leave, phone clutched in her hand as she gestures at it with the other. “Duty calls,” she says as she gets up in search of her things, some of which Root has no doubt will probably be left behind. Zoe pauses while she's slipping one heel on to her foot, her nose scrunched in amusement. “Well.  _ Booty _ calls.”

Shaw actually snorts.

“Wouldn’t want to leave whoever it is waiting, hm?” Root asks, eyebrows raised in faux innocence that makes Zoe smirk.

“Oh, I definitely would. Boys get pouty. It’s fun,” she responds, hooking her purse over her shoulder and turning back around to face the two of them, hand curled on the doorknob. “Speaking of, try to have some without me. I know I’m the life of the party.”

Zoe slinks out of the apartment before Root has a chance to launch a throw pillow at her head and she settles back into the couch, the next episode loading up on the screen. She tucks her hair behind her ear so she can look at Shaw in her peripheral and watches as the other woman stacks her empty containers on the table, apparently finished eating. She waits for a few seconds for the grumbled goodbye, but it never comes as Shaw slouches a bit against the cushions, eyes darting around the apartment as if she’s only now taking in the room.

Root hadn’t sparsed on decorations, because if she’s going to be living this way then she can very well do it without a drab living space. In fact, she thinks she’s done a pretty good job of making the admittedly crappy apartment hospitable, and is surprised when Shaw suddenly breaks the silence to say so.

Well, to say _as much_.

“Your place doesn’t look as nearly as shitty as mine,” she says lowly, eyes taking in the dark purple curtains before drifting to the IKEA bookshelf wedged into the corner and then, finally, glancing at Root. 

“Creature comforts,” Root shrugs.

“Yeah, but some of it looks expensive,” she indicates the very large TV with a tip of her head, the unspoken question of, “so why choose to live in a dump like this?” hanging between them.

Root has been perfecting the art of deflection since she was fourteen years old. She’s always been great at it, but she’s had to use the skill a lot more frequently these past few months, so it’s easy for her to turn on a flirty smile. Just like flipping a switch.

“Maybe I just have expensive tastes, Shaw,” she says, letting her eyes flick over the other woman once—it’d be a lie if she said it’s done against her will, because it  _ is  _ deliberate. But she keeps it quick and light in order not to send Shaw walking out of the apartment, gets rewarded with a tiny eye roll instead. 

But when her eyes slide back to Root moments later, they’re fixed on something that’s significantly lower than her own eyes. It takes Root a moment to realize what it is and when she does she has to restrain herself from lifting her hand to trace the scar peeking out from behind her ear. 

Shaw’s quick to avert her gaze, and she doesn’t ask about it. But her lips are slightly pursed and Root sighs a little as she untucks her hair from behind her ear and lets it fall over the scar, hiding it from sight even as she opens her mouth to explain it. For whatever reason that is, because she honestly doesn’t know why she feels like she should.

“Bad accident,” Root murmurs. She supposes it isn’t entirely untrue.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” When Root flicks her gaze up in surprise, she finds Shaw watching her with dark, honest eyes. It's not  _ open _ honesty, but… stout. Truthful. “I was in med school. Can’t help it, sometimes.”

Shaw really  _ is _ full of surprises. “Seriously?”

“Why do you think I’m doing the whole cage fighting thing? And living in this shit hole?” She huffs. “Student loans are a bitch. The rent here is cheap, and the fighting pay’s good.”

“If you win,” Root supplies, thankful for the sudden change of subject.

Shaw smirks, her voice taking on a lower, deeper tone that sends a thrill up Root’s spine. “Oh, I always do.” 

“You didn’t think to take on a more conventional job?”

“Nah, that’s Reese’s thing,” Shaw replies, then seems to realize that Root doesn’t know who ‘Reese’ is because she glances at her and amends, “John.”

“Last names, huh?”

Shrugging, Shaw says, “Military family thing, I guess.” She eyes Root for a moment. “I still don’t know yours, by the way. Or your real name.”

The name flashes in her mind, once. A past life. It’s a knee jerk reaction every time, but so are the next words that come out of her mouth, followed by the lopsided smile. “Just call me Root.”

Shaw scoffs. “Right.”

“And I don’t know  _ your  _ first name,” she points out.

Shaw looks at her for a prolonged moment before her lips tip in a sly grin and she leans forward a bit; not exactly in Root’s face but in her space, just a little, and Root can’t help the way her eyes flick quickly from Shaw’s mouth, to her nose (and yes, she can see the freckles from this proximity), and back to her eyes again. 

Shaw parts her lips, and Root thinks she’s going to tell her but instead what she hears is, “Too bad,” in a low, teasing voice right before Shaw stands and moves for the door. Root watches her leave, doesn’t let her disappointment show on her face, and smiles when Shaw salutes her with a flick of two fingers. “Wouldn’t want to take away from my ‘mystery babe’ reputation. Thanks for the dinner.”

She lets herself out, and Root spends the rest of the evening with a funny little flip in her stomach, letting the episodes play without really paying attention to them. 


	6. A Girl Is A Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how i feel about this chapter but i won't be able to update for a few days so i decided to just post it. also don't fret because the good stuff is coming up soon (aka what literally everyone's been asking for: The Fight)

The power of the gun pulses in her hands as she squeezes the trigger, not even batting an eyelash with each resounding pop and flash . Shaw smirks when it clicks empty, reaching for the side button controlling the overhanging track as she sets the weapon down in the tray in front of her. The paper target belonging to the next stall over trails just behind hers; she slips the protective earmuffs around her neck and scoffs in smug satisfaction once she tallies up the bullet holes. They have all hit their designated marks, just like her own, though with slightly less precision.

“Maybe _ I _ should be the one joining the police force,” she comments airily. John grumbles something from the other side of the floor-to-ceiling panel, too quiet for her to hear. “You missed the brachial artery.”

“By centimeters.” She can tell he’s pouting before he comes into view, stepping around the wall bordering them. “Nobody dies from a shoulder wound, anyway. Stop going all doctor mode on me.”

“Gotta put all those years of med school to use somehow,” she says. Being forced out of her residency prematurely hadn’t stung her like it would most people. She hadn’t spent the resulting few weeks drowning her sorrows in a tub of ice cream, for example; instead unleashing her anger on punching bags of all sorts, some of them living, breathing bodies in a sparring cage. It had pissed her off. Wasted time on something she was really fucking good at. Still  _ is _ good at. Nowadays she’s her own and only patient, stitching herself up in her bathroom mirror after a fight. 

John doesn’t reply, just hums neutrally and offers her what she likes best: silence. They collect their belongings and check out of the range, John purchasing an extra case of 9mm ammo before they leave the store and head to Shaw’s car, parked as it is in the lot. When he tries to make an attempt for the driver’s door, she growls and shoves him bodily aside.

“I’m armed, Reese,” she warns, right before she yanks the door open and climbs in. 

“I’m aware, Shaw,” he responds in an annoyingly teasing voice. “That Nano’s nice, by the way. Recent purchase?”

She shrugs. “Last fight paid more than usual, had some extra spending money. Half went to the gun.”

“And the other half?”

“To a bottle of Johnnie Walker sitting in my kitchen cabinet.”

“And you weren’t going to share?” He tries to go for a wounded look, but it falls flat because Shaw chooses to ignore him. “You know the saying—”

“I don’t care.”

“Clearly not, because sharing is caring.” Finished, he grins triumphantly. 

Shaw growls again, starting the car and backing out of the spot a little more violently than necessary. Satisfaction fills her when she sees him make a grab for the support handle above the door but she keeps her expression passive, and the rest of the drive back to her apartment block in Bushwick is short and blessedly quiet. Much to her disappointment, however, John doesn’t immediately beat it after she parks up and instead begins to follow her up the stoop. 

“I’m saying hi to Bear,” he explains when she directs a scowl over her shoulder, then rolls his eyes when her expression deepens. “He’s  _ my _ dog, you know.”

Shaw turns and continues up the stairs, punching the door code in and marching towards the elevator when she’s let inside. “Yeah, well, he likes me better.”

John grumbles something under his breath that sort of sounds like a petulant, “no, he doesn’t,” but she isn’t given a chance to partake in his childish argument ( _ not _ that she wants to, though she’s right anyway) when the elevator doors part, revealing Root and Zoe inside.

Root spots her first, which doesn’t really surprise Shaw. She’d noted through the short dinner at her apartment last night that Root has a habit of watching Shaw from under her lashes or out the corner of her eye, and Shaw’s not sure if she really isn’t all that subtle or she just doesn’t care to be. Probably a little mixture of both.

She knows Root thinks she’s hot. It had been pretty evident since the very first moment they met, on the day Root was moving in a couple months back and had nearly crashed into Shaw as she was walking out of her apartment. Root, who had been carrying a huge cardboard box, had been pretty much unfazed by the death glare Shaw had sent her before promptly (and wordlessly) walking down the hall to the elevator, feeling Root’s eyes boring into her back the entire time. When she’d stepped inside and turned around, she’d caught a glimpse of a smirk on the other woman right before the doors had closed. 

And then, of course, there was every other time they saw one another after that, when Shaw’s usual air of apathy failed to deter Root’s cheery greetings-in-passing. Last night had simply been icing on the cake with the whole comparing Shaw to that Rosa chick and the, “Well, she  _ is _ hot,” that came after it. 

Root grins and opens her mouth to deliver one of her standard perky greetings now, but she’s interrupted by Zoe, who’s just only looked up from her cell phone and is staring above Shaw’s shoulder with nothing but pure, unadulterated amusement etched on her face.

“Hello, John.”

Shaw’s eyebrow twitches in confusion at the same time as John, the surprise evident in his voice, says, “Zoe.”

The four of them stand there staring at each other with different emotions playing on their faces—Root’s raising her eyebrows with a smile, Zoe’s still looking profoundly smug; Shaw can feel John’s discomfort radiating off of him where he’s standing behind her and Shaw, mildly annoyed with the drawn-out silence, asks rather pointlessly, “You two know each other or somethin’?”

“Well, we—” John starts at the same time as Zoe bulldozes over him with, “ _ Booty _ calls.”

Shaw sends him a disbelieving look over her shoulder, eyebrow arched. “Seriously? I thought you were ‘busy with class’.”

“I  _ am _ ,” he frowns.

“It really is a small world,” Root suddenly pipes up, thoroughly pleased. Shaw glances at her and glares a little—it, of course, has no effect on her—before pushing past and slipping inside the elevator with a grunt that says  _ whatever, I’m outta here _ . John smiles a little awkwardly at Zoe, and then follows suit.

“Don’t be a stranger, John,” Zoe drawls as the doors close.

Shaw allows a moment of silence to pass before sliding her eyes to her dumbass brother and leveling him with an unamused glower. “Seriously,” she repeats flatly.

“What? I’d just finished up the Academy, needed to blow off some steam.”

“Ugh. Gross. I don’t need the details.”

“Wasn’t planning on giving you any.”

“The hell, anyway? Thought you had a thing for that other cadet.”

John narrows his eyes but doesn’t respond as the elevator doors part again, depositing them on Shaw’s floor. She’s barely got the key twisted in the lock and the door pushed open when Bear launches himself through the small crack and braces his two front paws on John’s stomach, stretching in order to lick his chin in excitement.

“Traitor,” Shaw mutters indignantly, scowling at John when he smiles complacently around Bear’s affection. 

She stalks inside and straight to the cabinet below her kitchen sink, fishing out the bottle of whiskey. She twists and flicks the cap off with her index finger, taking a long swig and frowning at Bear when he finally comes back inside, loping up to her with his tail wagging behind him.

“I’m not your sloppy seconds, little man,” she sneers, tipping the bottle to her mouth again. Bear whines and she glances down at him, sad puppy eyes half distorted by the amber-colored glass, and she’s groaning before she’s even got the bottle pulled away from her lips. “Ugh. Fine.”

Setting the whiskey down on the counter, she opens her fridge and digs out a container of leftover tri-tip that she may or may not have saved specifically for the dog. She pulls out a strip of meat and drops it into his mouth, unable to maintain her annoyance with his betrayal for much longer before she’s rolling her eyes and scratching him behind the ears while he chews.

“It’s way too easy to forgive that face,” she mutters to him, kneeling and accepting a lick to her cheek. 

John snickers from the entryway. “I don’t know who’s eating out of whose palm, you or Bear.”

“For that, you don’t get any top shelf booze. There’s beer in the fridge.”

Laughing again, he ignores her in favor of walking to the cabinet he knows is where she keeps her glasses (and he doesn’t even have to stretch for it, the fucker), taking one out and pouring a finger of whiskey inside. She pays extra special attention to Bear for a moment in order to restrain herself from inflicting bodily harm on John, but eventually stands when the linoleum starts to hurt her knees.

“What the fuck are you doing screwing my neighbor’s friends, anyway,” she mutters.

“It wasn’t like I was aware. We met in a bar last week,” John responds, sounding exasperated. She narrows her eyes at him, which makes him look at her suspiciously. “Why? What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, forget it.” John doesn’t say anything else but she does spot the tiny grin stretching across his lips in her peripheral. “Shut up.”

He lifts his hands at his sides defensively. “Didn’t say anything.”

She rolls her eyes and picks up the liquor bottle again. She takes a drink, refills John’s glass in an undeserving display of generosity, and screws the cap back on before storing it back in its hiding space. John’s still smirking into the alcohol like the little shit he is when she straightens and she’s seriously tempted to make him choke on it.

Instead, she asks, “You’re coming to my next fight, right?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Not particularly.”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, ignoring her. “Am I going to have to arrest anybody?”

“You mean, besides the illegal fighters, myself included, and everyone else, who’d probably be infracting on some sort of trespassing law? You’re not even a cop yet, idiot.”

She walks out of the kitchen then, untucking the Nano from behind her jeans and placing it on the breakfast counter to properly stowaway later before throwing herself down on the leather loveseat in her living room. John follows, nudging her legs out the way with his hand and she unthinkingly obliges, scowling at the gesture a tad too late as he sinks down beside her. He leans over for the remote on her coffee table and flicks on a rerun of a football game, and she scowls at that instead. 

“So, Root,” he starts after a very long moment.

Shaw groans, throwing her arm over her eyes. “ _ Ugh _ , don’t. I will kick you out.”

“What? She seems nice.”

Nice. It’s not exactly a word she’d use to describe Root. Okay, Root’s not  _ mean _ either, at least not outrightly so, and—fuck, she doesn’t really know  _ what _ Root is. Flirty, vaguely friendly, but in ways that sometimes feels… tactical? No. She knows Root’s genuinely attracted to her. But there’s something to that crooked smile of hers that makes Shaw feel like she should have her guard up, just a little bit, and then there’s that other something that makes Shaw want to push back. 

She keeps telling herself that whatever Root’s hiding, it’s none of her business. And it isn’t, it’s not like she’s going to go snooping like Lady 2C, but Shaw can’t help it sometimes if she spends a few moments thinking about what the hell is going on in Root’s head. Like… she’s doing now, she supposes.

“Yeah, nice,” Shaw says, forcing herself to sound neutral so that John doesn’t prod any more. 

“You know what she does for a living?”

She huffs in irritation but answers anyway. “No.” In fact, she thinks Root hardly ever leaves her apartment on a regular basis, not one that would make Shaw believe that she works a nine-to-five job or anything. Maybe she works from home. Maybe she’s in-between positions at the moment.

_ Maybe _ Shaw doesn’t care enough to guess.

“Why don’t you ask your fuck buddy if you’re so interested?” She asks emotionlessly, keeping her eyes glued to the game but not paying any particular attention to it.

“Well, we don’t talk much, Shaw." His tone is light and annoying. “That’s the whole point.”

She rolls her eyes just as Bear joins them in the living room, dropping an old, chewed up ball at her feet. She smooths a hand over his head when he rests it in her lap and says in a voice just loud enough for John to hear, “You’re the only worthwhile man in my life.”

“Words wound, you know.”

“Bite me.”

John stands and sets his glass on the table, chuckling. “Okay, I’m leaving.”

“‘Bout time, if you ask me.”

“Seriously, I’m full of holes here,” he says flatly before bending down to pat Bear goodbye.

Shaking her head as he lets himself out, she leans back into the couch and lets Bear hop up to take John’s vacated spot. She idly scratches the fur at the nape of his neck, eyes drifting to the ring stain on her coffee table left by the beer she’d been in the middle of nursing when Zoe had knocked on her door last night, waving a container of Chinese in her face. 

Being in Root’s apartment for the first time hadn’t provided much insight for her—not that Shaw had been looking, mind you. Okay, maybe she had. Just a little. But it’s not snooping when you’re literally sitting smack dab in the middle of another person’s apartment and taking in the (unexpectedly high-end) decor, and she had cut herself off from staring curiously at the scar poking out from behind the shell of Root’s ear before she crossed that intrusive territory.

She’d meant what she said: Root didn’t have to explain anything to her. And to be honest, once her initial curiosity subsided she’d been less interested in the scar itself and more in how poorly it had healed. Whoever stitched it up for Root had done a pretty shit job, either rushed or inexperienced or both. Shaw couldn’t help but think about the ways she could’ve done it better.

But she’d let Root brush off the subject. Shaw knows more than most what it’s like to just not want to talk about things, even though her go-to method of deflecting lies within outright ignoring whereas Root clearly prefers to flirt. Well, Shaw could flirt too. And she’s fucking good at it when she wants to be, which she’s finding more and more recently that she does. 

Bear huffs in her lap like he’s reading her mind, almost sounding unamused. She blinks and glances down at him; her fingers had paused in his fur and he’s probably just grumpy about that, but she can’t help but feel a little defensive anyway.  Determinedly, she watches the TV without letting her mind wander to anything else until her stomach growls a few hours later, forcing her to get up and make dinner. 


	7. Like Sugar And Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: descriptions of a nightmare until the first asterisk. it's plot relevant though and it's not _that_ long, but if you're worried about any possible triggers feel free to comment and i'll do my best to summarize it for you :)
> 
> title taken from 'distractions' by wild painting, a very shoot song imo

It’s not often Root has nightmares—or just standard dreams, really—because most of her evenings are spent tossing and turning, drifting in and out of slumber too often for her subconsciousness to properly take over before the sun’s rising and she’s going about her day again. Normal people would complain about the lack of a solid night’s rest, but Root’s just grateful that she’s not plagued by a relentless stream of reminders telling her _this is who you’ve lost, this is what your life has come to_ every time she shuts her eyes. But that’s not to say that they still don’t come every now and then.

Tonight, like all of the other rare nights where she’s locked in deep sleep, she dreams of Hanna.

It starts off fairly innocent, as they always do. Two small-town Texas girls growing up with dreams of leaving someday, of stealing themselves a better lot in life because they both know it won’t simply be given to them. _Los Angeles. San Francisco. Seattle._ Tiny faces illuminated by a dull night light in the safe and sturdy constructs of their blanket fort, swapping places back-and-forth with wistful smiles stretched across their lips until they both wholeheartedly agree on one: _New York_.

Then the dream skips ahead, ten years later. Root and Hanna fresh in Manhattan, barely in their twenties but with a substantial amount of money saved between them, earned in ways exclusive to two young, talented hackers desperate to leave their hometown behind. The apartment is just how Root remembers it _before_ , all exposed brick and hardwood floors and waiting to be filled with aspects of both of their personalities. Jewel-toned furniture, abstract paintings, computers. Hanna’s abundant collection of books. Root’s overwhelming supply of expensive kitchen utensils because she finally has one large enough to use them in.

But Root doesn’t really see the three following years they lived there, happy and free, except for in glimpses. Like when they first met Harold and Nathan, a hacker even more secretive than them and his billionaire, charming boyfriend respectively. Working alongside Harold at IFT, finally falling into the lives they’d dreamed of since as long as they could remember. Finally… _home_. But it’s a slideshow, flicking too fast so that she almost can’t make it out, and then she’s right where it all started to go to hell.

She comes home to a trashed apartment. Hanna’s nowhere amongst the things that have been upturned and thrown about, and she’s just pulled out her phone with shaky fingers to call her when there’s a hand clamping over her mouth from behind and a sharp, pricking pain in her neck. Then it’s black.

In her dream, she opens her eyes and finds herself sitting in a dark room, strapped to a chair with a single light bulb hanging over her head. Dramatization provided by her subconscious, but it has the same effect on her anyway: complete and utter dread. She can’t see anything past the tiny circle of light surrounding her. She just waits, and waits, and waits.

And then a face leans into her view. Pale skin, fierce eyes, and a mouth pulled in a cold, wicked smile that doesn’t disappear as it says, _your friend wouldn’t give us any answers, so we disposed of her. Maybe you’re the brains of your pathetic little operation?_

Despite the fear that wracks through her, Root spits. _Bitch_.

The face brightens up with that, looks to the side for permission. And then another voice, male this time, gravelly and British. _Do what you have to. We cannot let it get away from us. Start with one ear, but do not kill her just yet, Martine._

Root doesn’t know if he leaves because he never speaks again, and she can’t see anything besides the Martine woman's face looming over her and the glint of a blade, right before the cold edge is dug into the flesh behind her ear.

She doesn’t give in. She doesn’t tell her anything, because she doesn’t know anything. Martine doesn’t believe her.

This part of the dream, thankfully, does not get stretched out. But what comes next is no better than what has already gone by.

Martine falls to the ground. Nathan stands over her unconscious body, the butt of the revolver in his hands glistening with blood, his eyes wide. And then Harold is pushing past him to Root, but she can’t really hear what he’s saying, not with one ear decommissioned and the other buzzing with shock. Nathan suddenly springs to action, and the restraints around her wrists and ankles are abruptly cut. There’s an arm tightly curling around her waist, lifting her up, and she looks just in time to see Harold’s profile, lips flattened in a thin, determined line. Nathan’s ahead of them now, making sure the way’s clear. His shoulders are taut but he’s being brave, _they’re_ being brave, for her.

And then there’s the sound of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun. Loud, chilling, and lodged in the base of Harold’s spine. Nathan turns, yells, rushes back for them. He struggles to pick both Root and Harold up with just one arm because he’s got the other outstretched behind them, firing the gun blindly. And before she summons the strength from deep inside to help get the three of them the hell out of there, Root looks back and sees Martine, propped up on one hand and using the other to aim another shot at them.

Nathan gets one in her shoulder first, but it’s not enough. They escape, but she’s still out there, and so is the voice that ordered it all in the first place.

*

Root wakes up gasping, pulse skipping so erratically that her throat twitches with the force. The room is spinning around her and she squeezes her eyes shut to get her bearings, counting steadily to ten until both her heart and breathing starts to calm down and she no longer feels like she’s going to vomit. She reaches for the glass of water on her nightstand and brings it to her lips with an unsteady hand, spilling a few droplets on the collar of her already damp T-shirt.

Her mouth is dry and she feels like she’s swallowing cotton balls when the water goes down, but she forces herself to drink some more. It settles in her empty stomach, cold and sloshy, just like the weight of this stupid dream—this _reminder_ —that she’s had too many times to count in the past seven months.

She brings her legs to her chest, pressing her forehead to her knee. _Harold’s okay. He’s okay. He survived. But Hanna_ —

That particular train of thought is disrupted when Root notices the sound of scratching coming from her right, picked up by her implant. She puts the glass back down and follows the source of the noise, frowning curiously at the vent on the floor a foot or so away from her bed. Part of her screams _danger_ , makes her limbs twitch with the impulse to find a weapon or flee. It takes her a second longer—and a helpful whimper—to realize that the noises are actually coming from a dog. Or rather Bear, on the other side of her and Shaw’s shared wall, which he’s evidently pawing and whining at. Like he knows she’s finally noticed him, he lets out a short bark—one that’s followed by a groan of protest and then a low, slightly muffled voice.

“What is it, boy,” Shaw grumbles, sounding like she’s not going to stay awake long enough for the answer. Bear’s response is to bark again and scratch some more against the wall. Through his crying, Root barely manages to pick up Shaw’s annoyed sigh. “Bear. _Hier._ ”

His paws obediently pad away, and Root thinks that’s that. And weirdly enough, her stomach feels a little more at ease. She can’t help but smile a little at Bear’s efforts to calm or comfort or whatever it was he was trying to do for her, but she’s startled out of it a beat later by two succinct and resounding knuckle taps on the other side of the wall a few inches away from her left ear.

“Hey. You still up?” Shaw’s voice is louder now, clearly addressing Root and not the dog. Though there’s some lingering irritation there, it’s rapidly fading.

“Uh, yeah,” Root replies after a moment of hesitation. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Bear’s trained for it. John used to have nightmares all the time after he got back from Afghanistan,” Shaw replies. Root can almost picture her shaking her head, the _don’t worry about it_ left unspoken.

And she knows the conversation should end here, that it’s—she glances at the clock on her night stand—4:11 in the morning and she should promptly thank Shaw and let her get back to sleep. But she doesn’t, not yet. Shaw’s low and even voice is comforting, and Root’s heart is slowing down to match the steady lilt of it.

“John was in the military?”

“Army,” Shaw answers. “So was our dad. John idolized him, wanted to follow in his footsteps, I guess.”

“And you?”

There’s a scoff. “What about me?”

“You have that military discipline to you, yourself,” Root replies pointedly. She leans her head back against the wall, picturing Shaw doing the same on the other side, mirroring one another. She closes her eyes.

“Nah, never joined.” Shaw’s silent for a beat. “Thought about it though.”

“And instead, you…”

Shaw snorts, and Root thinks she isn’t going to answer. It’s all well and good, Root’s sort of prying, half in order to distract herself until she’s feeling more normal and half out of genuine interest. But then, “I was in med school for a bit. Didn’t work out.”

Root’s surprise is momentary, gone almost as quick as it came once she thinks about it. From what she’s seen of Shaw, she’s calm and collected, focused; smart. And probably steady-handed. Root can’t picture her being nervous in any sort of state. She almost laughs because it’s funny, how she’s met a person who would’ve been extremely helpful _after_ the situation that she would’ve been helpful in has already happened.

“Shame,” Root says then, because it is. _A shame_. But maybe it’s also for the best. Maybe, if she’d met Shaw before and dragged her into this mess, Root would still end up here in this shitty apartment, just with one less neighbor. And that nosey old bat in 2C isn’t nearly as pretty to look at. “America’s wounded and ill is seriously missing out.”

There’s another resounding scoff, softened by what Root thinks is probably a smile. Her own lips stretch in the same sentiment, just a little, and a peaceful moment passes where Root’s pulse has finally stopped skipping and the pressure between her temples has eased. When Shaw’s voice carries through the wall again, she realizes she’d begun to drift back to sleep.

“Root?”

Slowly, her eyes blink open. “Hmm. Yeah?”

“So, you’re good now?” Shaw’s voice is quiet, not in it’s usual low, cool, sometimes-vaguely-annoyed tone, but almost gentle. If gentle was a word that Root would think to associate with her. Which maybe she would, if she knew Shaw a little better; if she wasn’t on the brink of unconsciousness.

“Yeah,” she says again, slugglishly folding herself back under the covers. “Thank you, Shaw.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she responds after a grunt. “Night, Root.”

*

Something warm and wet swipes thick across her nose, and Shaw rolls over on to her other side with an indignant and sleepy frown, grumbling protests beneath her breath. Even through her semi-consciousness she tracks the padded footsteps walking around the bed, though she absolutely refuses to open her eyes. That is, until Bear starts panting directly into her face.

“ _Fine_ ,” she sighs petulantly, throwing her covers back. Bear moves out of the way just enough so that he isn’t in the line of trajectory of her legs as she swings them over the edge of the mattress. His face is deceptively innocent, and he’s holding his leash in his mouth.

Shaw spares one look at the clock (it’s been about three hours since he’d woken her up in the middle of the night, though for drastically different reasons) before sliding her eyes to the window above her desk. Overcast. Great.

“Just let me brush my teeth and get dressed, okay?” She tells him, cupping his face as she stands. He whines and stands guard at the bathroom door as she brushes and spits into the sink, like she’s going to bail on him at any second. She frowns a little when he does the same as she stuffs her legs into a pair of pants and picks a coat from her closet, and by the time she’s slipping a boot on to her foot, he’s literally restless with impatience. She stomps the other on as she stands and walks over to him, grabbing the leash from out of his mouth and struggling to hook it into the metal loop on his collar because he keeps trying to rush at the front door.

“Okay, okay, we’re going, jesus,” she mumbles, belatedly tucking her hair beneath a beanie when she remembers she hadn’t done anything to it since rolling out of bed. When she finally opens the door Bear drags her into the hallway, and it takes all her strength to hold him back as she attempts to lock it. The key glints uselessly off the side of the knob as another door opens from somewhere else in the hall and Bear lurches with excitement, jostling her whole body. “Seriously, big guy, you’re not speeding up the process by any means.”

“Need a hand?” Shaw glances over her shoulder at an approaching Root, her eyes briefly racking over her tall form and taking her in before she can help herself. It’s the medical training reacting first, anyway, but besides the very faint circles around her eyes, Root pretty much looks no worse for wear. She smiles disarmingly at Shaw, then leans down to pet Bear, who’s stretched his leash in an attempt to reach her. “Hi,” she greets him.

Shaw clears her throat and looks away. “I got it now, thanks,” she says, taking advantage of Bear’s distraction and finally locking the door. She drops her free hand back to her side and watches as Root’s fingers disappear into the fur at the nape of Bear’s neck, her face scrunching up when he licks the apple of her cheek. “You were heading out?”

“To the cafe around the corner. You?”

“A walk, apparently. He couldn’t wait,” she replies, gesturing at Bear, who has since leaned back on his haunches at Root’s feet. Shaw narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. Every ounce of impatience that had him practically vibrating a few minutes ago is now gone, and he’s contently glancing from Root to Shaw with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“You two wanna join me then?” Shaw’s lips twitch with the instinct to say no. But then, “The cafe’s dog friendly. And they make a delicious croque-monsieur.”

Bear, like he can understand a word of what they’re saying, looks up at Shaw with pleading eyes. She frowns at him for all of a second but then her stomach growls, _loudly_ , and she sees the amusement spark across Root’s face out the corner of her eye.

“All right,” Shaw agrees gruffly, starting toward the elevator without waiting for her. “But their coffee better not be shit.”

“Oh, it’s not, I promise,” Root replies. Much to Shaw’s aggravation, she only has to take two long strides before she’s falling back into step with her. Bear’s tail thwaps excitedly against both of their legs as he walks between them, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Shaw can’t help but feel like she’s being conspired against by him. “You’ve never been?”

Shaw shakes her head as they crowd into the elevator. “I usually cook breakfast if I don’t have plans already.”

A smile flickers across Root’s face, but it only seems to highlight the circles around her eyes, and Shaw itches with the urge to ask her if she’s doing okay. But Shaw’s never been good at that type of shit, at least not when she puts too much thought in it. Last night had been different because it was something she’d had to do before with John; she can’t count on one hand alone the amount of nightmares she’s had to help calm him through in the few months he crashed on her couch after he came back from overseas. And then the VA had set him up with Bear. But it had been so long since then that when Bear’s whining had woken her up last night, for an instant she thought she’d have to stumble into her living room and pin her thrashing brother to the floor. Her sleep-addled brain had caught up with her body quickly though, and then she was just speaking— _comforting_ , she guesses—automatically. Root had fallen back to sleep much calmer, she could tell.

But Shaw and John never really talked it out the following mornings, in the light of day. She just nudged him with her elbow and shoved a steaming mug of coffee in his hands, and that was that. It worked for _them_ , but they’re not exactly the standard by any means, so she figures it’s probably best she doesn’t mention anything right now in case she fucks it up and ruins her and Root’s impromptu breakfast plans.

“I used to cook all the time. Not so much, anymore,” Root admits distantly, voice suddenly quieter, but then she perks up again just as quickly and the roller coaster would probably make Shaw dizzy if she hadn’t noticed the carefully construed mask that had slipped over Root’s features in between. “You any good?”

Deciding not to comment on the shift, Shaw instead flows with the deflection. “A whole lot better than John. He can’t boil pasta to save his life.”

“I’m sure he isn’t _that_ bad,” Root says with a tilt of her head. The elevator doors part and deposit them into the lobby.

“He’s caught spaghetti on fire before, Root.”

“Okay, maybe he is that bad. But are you any _good_?”

Shaw scoffs, “The hell kind of question is that. ‘Course I’m good.”

Root hums noncommittally and Shaw glances at her as they walk down the front steps of their building. She’s got a meaningful smile playing on her lips and is doing a poor job at hiding it.

“What?” Shaw rolls her eyes when Root doesn’t reply. “Out with it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. You’re just awfully cocky.”

“Nah. Just sure of my abilities.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Trust me, there’s a difference. And cooking’s not the only thing I’m good at.”

“Hm. I bet.” Her smile has fully blossomed into something wide and devious, poking out from behind her hair as they round onto the sidewalk. Shaw lets her lead a little, if only because she doesn’t exactly know where this cafe is. “Care to demonstrate some of them?”

Shaw puts every ounce of charm in the smile that stretches across her lips, tipping her head back a little so that she can look Root in the eye. And she sees the attraction there, right before they darken a little and fall to her mouth and then drag back up again. Shaw’s smile deepens, lets Root think she's going to get what she wants. 

“Not on an empty stomach,” she says in a teasing, flirty voice, and Root’s face falls a little in disappointment.

“You’re no fun.”

“On the contrary. I’m plenty fun.”

“Well, so far, all I’ve heard is all talk.”

Shaw doesn’t reply, just grins fake-pleasantly until Root rolls her eyes that belies the tiny, amused smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. They finish the rest of the short walk to the cafe in companionable silence, Bear sweeping the sidewalk in front of them with his nose pressed to the concrete. When they get to the cafe, a building on the corner with cursive font, the Eiffel Tower, and a French flag painted in the window, Shaw resists the urge to roll her eyes if only because the smell of toasted bread and freshly brewed coffee has crammed themselves up her nose and has made it impossible to do anything else except drool.

Root’s watching her in amusement as she opens the door, but she keeps any teasing remarks to herself as Shaw and Bear shuffle inside. There’s only a few other dogs in here and Bear’s easily the largest one—a much smaller mutt yaps at him, intimidated, but both he and Shaw pay the dog and its hipster-looking owner no mind. Shaw’s too busy staring at all the food lining the display case, and Bear’s pulling taut on his leash in the direction of the basket of dog treats positioned in front of the cash register.

On her left, Root leans over Shaw’s shoulder just enough that her hair tickles her skin and says, “You’re holding up the line, sweetie.”

Shaw’s face immediately screws up in an indignant scowl ( _Sweetie?_ ), but she’s being prodded forward by two of Root’s skinny fingers in her lower back and she shuffles ahead instead of snapping a retort. Without looking, and a tad violently, Shaw bats her hand away. Root chuckles, a breathless puff of air against the shell of Shaw’s ear as she pulls away.

It does _not_ make her shiver. It doesn’t.

The three of them bound up to the counter. Shaw orders the croque-monsieur at Root’s behest (and because she saw one of the employees behind the counter making one and it looked fucking delicious), a couple beignets, and a chocolate croissant the size of her head. She almost forgets about Bear until he nudges pointedly at her hand, and then throws a few of the dog pastries into the mix as well.

“Oh, and your largest coffee. Black,” she finishes up, drumming her fingers on the counter as she waits for the cashier to punch in the order. She catches Root watching her out of the corner of her eye, her expression funny. “What?”

“Nothing,” Root replies innocently, and then produces a wad of cash from seemingly out of nowhere and hands it to the worker. “I’ll have a croque-monsieur too, thanks.”

A few minutes later, after they’ve stepped out of line with their paper bags of food and made their way to a two-seater table in the front corner of the cafe, Root sighs at the surly expression Shaw knows is on her face. “The least I could do was buy you and Bear breakfast. You know, for last night.”

“I told you, you don’t—”

“Shaw,” Root cuts her off with a slightly exasperated smile. “Just accept my thanks, for crying out loud.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” she deadpans after a moment. “And because you paid for, like, forty dollars worth of pastries. You’re welcome.”

She reaches over to pluck a large chunk off the chocolate croissant and pops it into her mouth, then lets Bear scarf down one of his own treats out of the palm of her hand when he whines at her forlornly.

“There, that’s better.” Root says, making Shaw roll her eyes. “Now try the sandwich.”

Shaw unwraps the paper from the hot sandwhich and takes one look at the expectant expression on Root’s face before tearing into the cheese-covered bread with her teeth. As the flavors hit her tongue she pauses, cheek full of food, then lets out a very deep, very satisfied-sounding sigh that she probably would despise, but for now she can’t spare the time as she finishes chewing, swallows, and takes another bite.

Root’s got a triumphant little look on her face as she nibbles at her own sandwich. “Good, right?”

“You’re ruining the experience,” Shaw shoots back, mouth completely stuffed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that through all the—”

“ _Bite me_ ,” she says, still muffled but much louder. The couple at the next table over gives them a pair of dirty looks that goes ignored, because Root’s lips are tipping into a sly smile and she’s leaning forward on her elbows, voice dropping to conspiratorially low levels.

Echoing Shaw’s earlier words, she says, “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Shaw continues to chew open-mouthed for the next few moments, meeting Root’s eyes with her own flat expression. But Root’s undaunted, and annoyingly patient, so in the end it’s Shaw who lets out a scoff and glances out the window, throwing in the towel in whatever game they’d just been playing. Bear, ever the traitor, sits up and places his head in Root’s lap as if he’s siding with the winner, loyalty be damned.

“Good boy,” Root says, scratching behind his ears.

They wolf down the remainder of their sandwiches—well, _Shaw_ wolfs down her sandwich and then the leftover half of Root’s when she slides it over after catching Shaw eyeing it greedily—and then pick at the beignets before they can go soggy. Shaw ends up with powdered sugar on her nose and chin that Bear tries to lick up, and she has to fend him off with white-dusted hands while Root unhelpfully watches in entertainment, stealing a sip from Shaw’s coffee. She doesn’t have time to be mad about the caffeine theft because Bear’s now covered in sugary handprints, and the other guests and some of the employees are starting to glare at them because of the commotion.

Shaw glares back, crams the rest of her pastries into her mouth and swallows it down with _her_ coffee that she snatches out of Root’s hand. Even as they step out of the cafe into the chilly autumn air minutes later, Root’s amusement is still palpable, albeit quiet.

“Ugh, great, I’m caked in that powdered crap,” Shaw grumbles, looking down her white-speckled front. It’s going to be a bitch getting it out of her peacoat, never mind Bear’s fur.

“Maybe someone’ll lick it off of you.” Shaw pauses in trying to dust herself off with a raised eyebrow. “The dog, of course,” Root clarifies with a knowing smirk.

“God, you’re weird.”

“I think you like that about me, Shaw.”

Rolling her eyes, Shaw tugs on Bear’s leash and stalks forward, not deigning that comment with a reply. She tries not to let the smugness she can feel radiating off of Root bug her, but she isn't very successful.

Bear stops once to use the bathroom against an alley wall, but other than that the walk back to their apartments are relatively quiet and uneventful. That is, until they decide to forgo the elevator and run into Lady 2C on the second floor, who seems to be hovering in the hallway looking for something to occupy her unfortunately free time.

“Oh, Sameen, how lovely to see you,” she says, her voice and face noticeably dropping in enthusiasm once her gaze falls to the woman beside Shaw. “And… Root.”

She says Root’s name with disdain, like she loathes the fact that she doesn’t know her real one, and out of the corner of her eye Shaw sees Root’s mouth twitch with a barely contained smirk.

“Yeah. Lovely.” Shaw doesn’t try to force any politeness behind the words. Lady 2C doesn’t notice, though she does finally register that there’s a giant dog standing between Shaw and Root. She lets out an honest-to-god gasp, her hand pressed to her chest, regardless of the fact that Bear is doing nothing intimidating at all and is simply staring up at the old woman with his tongue hanging over the edge of his jaw, panting lightly.

“Oh, wow, that’s…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, instead forcing her gaze away from Bear so that she can glance between Root and Shaw. “Where did you two young ladies go off to?”

Shaw’s about to say, “none of your business,” but Root steps forward, full of disarming and obviously fake charm. It’s obvious to Shaw, at least.

“ _Sameen_ ”—she spares a glance at Shaw over her shoulder, positively smug with her newfound knowledge—“and I were just coming back from breakfast. Nothing like some quality time between girls, right?”

Lady 2C, despite her earlier wariness of Root, apparently can’t help but break out in an annoyingly nostalgic expression. “I do miss spending time with my old girlfriends, myself.”

Shaw rolls her eyes. The straight woman, platonic friend definition of “girlfriend” aside, she simply doesn’t care. And she doesn’t know why Root’s continuing to humor her. But then—

“Oh, I don’t think my and Sameen’s relationship has progressed that far just yet,” Root replies lightly. Shaw nearly chokes on her own spit. “But I had no idea you had a preference for women yourself, Mrs. Newman. That’s so nice to hear.”

The old woman squawks. “Excuse me? Now wait just a moment—”

“Anyway, we should probably get upstairs and get Bear some water,” Root declares loudly and brightly, turning on her heel and giving Shaw a humorous expression as Lady 2C continues to sputter behind her. Root waves over her shoulder and uses her other hand to hook around Shaw’s elbow, dragging her up the first step until Shaw shrugs her off with a huff.

When they get to their own floor, Root sinks against the wall beside her apartment with a laugh stifled into the palm of her hand. Shaw wants to roll her eyes again but the image of Lady 2C’s red face is enough to make her own laughter bubble out of her throat, and then they’re both standing there smothering the noises in case the old lady hears them and comes back upstairs for more. When a door slams on the floor below, Root walks over to the railing and peers down to check if she’s finally gone. Then she drops her hand and lets out one final snort.

“I’ve been waiting to do that since I moved here,” Root says, slightly breathless.

“What I wanted to do was slightly more violent, but that’ll work just fine,” Shaw replies. “And I’ll forget the fact that you told her we were dating.”

“I didn’t tell her anything. More like… let her think we were.” Shaw shakes her head and doesn’t argue the subject. Whatever. The look on that nosey grandma’s face was worth it. “So… Sameen, huh?”

Shaw sighs. “My mail got put in her slot on accident one time,” she explains.

“Ah,” Root says, coming closer to her. “It’s pretty. Unique.”

“It’s Iranian,” Shaw responds, voice flat.

“Hmm. That explains it.”

“Root’s unique too, you know.”

“Nice try, sweetie, but I’m not telling you my real name.” Root grins broadly, fishing her keys out of her pocket and turning back to her door.

“What, is it a ‘if I told you, then I’d have to kill you’ sort of thing?”

Shaw’s tone is joking, but Root’s smile suddenly turns sad. “Not exactly,” she says. Before Shaw can frown and ask what the hell does that mean, Root beckons for Bear to walk over so that she can plant a kiss between his eyes. “See you around, big guy.”

And then Root abruptly slips into her apartment with another little wave. Shaw stares at the vacated air space, brows furrowed. Talking to Root makes her head spin sometimes, but she thinks having to live how she suspects Root does is much, much worse. Whatever she’s mixed up in…

Bear insistently pushes at her hand with his nose, forcing her to abandon that particular train of thought as she glances down at him. He whines impatiently and leans around her body, indicating at her own apartment door a few feet away, and she sighs quietly.

“God, you’re persistent today,” she says, sparing one final glance over her shoulder at Root’s door as she leads him down the hall. Once she lets him inside her place he trods over to his bed, laying his head on his paws and looking at her innocently as she continues in an accusing tone, “You planned all this, didn’t you. Rushed me out of the apartment this morning so that we’d run into Root in the hallway.”

Bear does nothing but blink once, and slowly at that. Shaw folds her arms over her chest and huffs. The dog’s too smart for her own good.


	8. Leather And Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you follow me on tumblr, you know that this one kicked my ass to write. writer's block is no fun. and this was supposed to be a lot longer but i decided to save it for the next chapter, which i know you will all enjoy! i'm looking forward to writing it.

“What do you mean you aren’t coming?” Root frowns, pausing the movie she’s only been half-paying attention to as Harold lets out a weary sigh on the other end of the line. “If this is about your aversion to biofluids, then you could just wear a rain poncho. I’m sure you wouldn’t get  _ that _ many weird looks.”

“No, no, it isn’t that,” Harold says, sounding serious. “It’s just…” He falters and Root’s expression deepens; she straightens in concern, readjusting her phone against her ear.

“Harry? What is it?”

“I… I thought I saw somebody following me yesterday. Nathan thinks I’m just being paranoid, but you know him. He finds playing things off easier than being nervous,” he says. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to worry you, Root.”

Humming neutrally, she fidgets with the fraying sleeve of her hoodie. Images of blonde  hair and cold eyes flash through her head, making a chill run down her spine. Still, her voice is deceptively light when she asks, “Who’d you see?”

“A man. Brown hair, average looking, wearing a suit. I was in Manhattan though, that’s practically the standard there.” Root lets out a silent exhalation as he sighs again, her chest loosening. It’s ridiculous. If it  _ had _ been Martine, Harold certainly would’ve recognized her. “Maybe Nathan’s right. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“But you’d rather play it safe than sorry, I get it,” Root says. She closes her eyes. She’s tired, honestly. Tired of the hiding, the worry. Having to constantly look over her shoulder or duck her head whenever she spots a security camera.

“I know you’re sick of all this,” Harold starts, as if he can read her mind.

“You don’t know the half of it.” She regrets the bitter words as soon as they’re out of her mouth. She may be the one being forced to hide, but she has to remember that she wasn’t the only one affected by this whole ordeal. She sighs, forcing her anger down. “Sorry.” 

“It’s quite alright.” Root can hear the weak smile in his voice as he falls back on their previous topic. “Zoe’s still excited to accompany you to Shaw’s fight, I presume.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t miss it. I think she enjoys the show just as much as I do.” They share two small, somewhat unconvincing laughs, though they're quickly interrupted by a single sharp knock on Root's door. She frowns at it for a moment. Harold, other than being on the phone with her, is across the city, and Zoe’s handling some business for a client. Nathan wouldn’t risk coming here because he’s too much of a public figure and his presence would probably just deliver unwanted attention to her doorstep, so…

“Root?” 

“Hold on a sec,” she tells Harold, holding the phone against her chest as she gets up and pads over to the door. She briefly debates going for the gun or Taser in her night stand drawer, but then her  _ own _ paranoia subsides and she figures if somebody were coming for her in her own apartment again, they probably wouldn’t knock.

Still, she decides to double-check through the peephole anyway. What she finds there is Shaw, lips already pursed with mild impatience. Root can’t help the smile that flits across her own mouth as she takes her in, messy ponytail and all, before opening the door just when Shaw lifts her hand to knock again. 

The new space also reveals Bear, obediently remaining sitting even as his tail picks up in a wag once he sees Root. She lets him lean forward to lick her hand in greeting even as she looks at Shaw in question.

“I was, uh, wondering if you could watch him for a few hours,” Shaw mumbles, clearly uncomfortable with the notion. She averts her gaze for the briefest of moments as she asks so Root assumes it’s not so much out of reluctance to leave Bear alone with her, but probably because she doesn’t want to inconvenience her. It sort of makes Root’s chest warm. “You know, while I train for tomorrow and stuff.”

“What’s in it for me?” Root teases.

But Shaw huffs tetchily, frowning at something apparently aggravating on the floor. “Forget it, if you’re going to be like—”

“I’m  _ joking _ , Sameen,” Root says, smiling at the way Shaw’s eyebrow twitches before she schools her features into something calmer. “Sure, I’ll watch him.”

“John’s caught up with something and my back-up guy is busy with work,” she explains, offering up a large Ziploc of dog food that Root somehow hadn’t noticed earlier. She also gives her Bear’s leash. “So, thanks for this.”

Root lifts her shoulder in a casual shrug. “Anything for my favorite neighbor.”

Shaw rolls her eyes even as she digs into her pocket and fishes out a torn off corner of printer paper and hands it over to Root between two fingers. She takes it from her, reading the seven black-inked digits with a barely suppressed smile. “My number. In case anything happens.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” She tucks the paper between her palm and Ziploc bag anyway, unwilling to give Shaw a chance to take it back.

“Yeah, okay. You won’t be saying the same thing once he gets a hold of anything you own made of leather.”

Root raises an eyebrow. “Speaking from experience, Shaw? Do you have a leather fetish I don’t know about?” Distantly, she hears a vague choking noise coming from her phone where it’s still being hugged against her sternum. 

Shaw shakes her head, unamused eyes boring into some distant thing over Root's shoulder. “I have a cheap couch full of teeth marks,” she corrects, voice hard, but Root doesn’t let the doubtful expression fall from her face. “Ugh, whatever. Thanks again. I’ll be back for him by six. Bear, be good, even though she doesn’t deserve it.”

Root waves Shaw off with a mischievous smirk, closing the door once the other woman disappears down the stairs. She brings the phone back up to her ear, watching as Bear sits down in front of her and looks up with expectant eyes. “Hi, Harry, sorry.”

“Who was that?”

“Shaw. She asked me to watch her dog. Well, her brother’s dog.”

Harold’s voice is pinched with slight disapproval as he replies, “Right, her brother. Zoe said he was a cop.”

“Not quite.”

“What if he—”

“He doesn’t know anything about me, Harry. He’s still in the academy." Root forfeits her staring contest with Bear in order to walk over to the kitchen, placing the dog food and leash on the counter. She keeps the slip of paper with Shaw’s number in her hand somewhat protectively.

Harold hums like he’s not completely reassured but won’t argue the point anymore. “Okay. Well, I better go. I just wanted to let you know I wouldn’t be attending tomorrow.” He hesitates for the briefest of moments. “Root… take care of yourself, okay?”

“Always do, Harry,” she says, smiling softly. “Even when I don’t have a guard dog to protect me.”

She ends the call as soon as Harold says goodbye, then goes about creating a new contact, punching Shaw’s number in with her thumb. She looks at Bear when she’s done, smiling slyly, and swears he’s almost copying her expression. “We better be on our best behavior, huh, big fella?”

*

Shaw’s shiny with sweat and chugging from her sports water bottle when her phone beeps on the bench beside her, and she glances at the message out of the corner of her eye.

UNKNOWN > [image attachment]

She picks up the phone with her wrapped hand, swiping it unlocked as she sets the bottle down, and scoffs once the chat opens up and reveals a picture of Bear, the frayed end of a woven leather belt clamped between his teeth. A hand that is undoubtedly Root’s is wrapped around the end with the buckle, and the picture is fuzzy with movement. Clearly, Bear thought they were playing tug of war. 

She saves Root’s number before typing out a response. 

SHAW > That’s what you get for cracking a leather fetish joke instead of taking me seriously

Root sends another image, this one of the belt lying in two tattered pieces in front of Bear’s front paws. He looks pretty happy with his handiwork, all things considered, but Shaw doesn’t have much time to dwell on that as she reads the accompanying text underneath the picture. 

ROOT > You know, this belt was particularly good for binding wrists and ankles. It’s a pity I can’t show you now, Sameen.

Shaw swallows and, despite herself, can’t help but imagine the feel of the woven leather digging into her own wrists. She doesn’t really have a leather fetish, but she’s never been opposed to good, old-fashioned bondage. She knows how to bound somebody six ways from Sunday, but really only prefers to be tied up herself when she’s with another woman and has had a belt used on her for exactly that on more than one occasion. There’s just something about the way the cool metal of the buckle presses against her skin, soothing the burn right before it warms up to match her body temperature. Or how the pulse in her wrists beats hard and true when her partner secures the belt tight enough, eyes meeting hers in a challenge, daring her to try and escape.

The look on their faces when she inevitably does never fails to gratify her. But she can’t help but think that, just maybe, with Root it’d be a little more difficult. And a hell of a lot more rewarding if, for once, she complied. 

As soon as that thought crosses her mind Shaw clears her throat, glancing guiltily around the gym to see if anyone is watching her, but Hersh is busying himself with something in the cage and everyone else is minding their own business in different corners of the large room. She begins to type out a response but her brain blanks on one, thumbs hovering uselessly over the screen. So she throws her phone down with a clatter and scowls at instead.

“Stupid Root and her stupid kinky brain,” Shaw mutters quietly, pushing herself off of the bench and rejoining Hersh in the cage, grateful that she can use exercising as a convenient excuse for the heat she feels crawling up her neck. 


	9. The Alpha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's here! i decided to split this in two parts and i'm very excited for the next one
> 
> warnings for: more descriptions of mma fighting, again nothing too graphic though

The bouncer, a stereotypically hulking, bald man in an all black T-shirt-and-pants combo, takes one good look at the pair of passes Zoe hands over to him before wordlessly letting them inside. The narrow hallway leading off of the entrance is covered floor-to-ceiling in various types of graffiti and the black floor is scratched and scuffed but, overall, it’s surprisingly clean. As they walk through it, Zoe sends Root a pleased expression over her shoulder.

“I could get used to this VIP treatment.”

Root rolls her eyes despite the fond smile she can feel settling across her lips. “You mean to tell me that half of Manhattan’s wealthy elite is indebted to you, and you haven’t yet?”

“Why Root, I don’t believe I’ve ever explicitly told you what I do for a living,” Zoe calls back, playing coy.

“Why Zoe, have you forgotten that Nathan and Harold _are_ two of Manhattan’s wealthy elite?”

“Touché,” Zoe returns. “And to answer your first question, no, I haven’t. I happen to come from humble roots, you know. I guess that makes two of us, right?”

Root doesn’t answer, just bumps her shoulder playfully against Zoe’s own, grinning, as they finally spill out into the main area and amongst the already growing crowd of onlookers. Root takes in the high-ceilinged room, the walls cast in blue neon light originating from the strips lining the supports. It’s a noticeably better venue than the one in Long Island, complete with girls in only slightly skimpy shorts weaving through the crowd and balancing drink trays on the palms of their hands.

“It’s a shame Harold’s not here. You know how much I hate having to play the overtly responsible counterpart,” Zoe sighs as one of the waitresses skirts past them. “Oh well. One of us has to be sober tonight, and I know who deserves it more.”

She slings an arm around Root’s shoulders and squeezes, and Root leans into the half-hug, but ultimately shakes her head with a rueful smile. “Not much in a drinking mood tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Got something planned for later I don’t know about? A post-win celebration with Shaw, perhaps?” Root rolls her eyes and Zoe beams, bright and unabashedly teasing. “Or maybe you just want to be sober enough to commit the sight of Shaw, sweaty and in a sports bra, forever to your memory. Ooh, I don’t blame you, can you imagine the thigh muscles on that babe?”

Yes, Root can and, in fact, has, but she doesn’t tell Zoe that much because she’d rather avoid never being allowed to live that fact down for the rest of her life. Zoe looks at her like she knows what’s going on inside her head anyway but uncharacteristically chooses not to point it out.

“Speaking of thigh muscles,” she says instead, and Root glances to the side as Zoe indicates with a tiny nod, only to see John approaching, a beer in hand. Root sees no obvious indication of any thigh muscles beneath the baggy pair of jeans he’s wearing, but she also supposes she hasn’t had the exclusive view of them that Zoe’s been receiving on the semi-regular. Not that she wants to. No thank you. She has a preference for much shorter and decidedly womanly… well, _women_ , for one.

John looks more than a little out of place with his neatly gelled hair, but he also seems more relaxed (and prepared) than the last time she saw him with Zoe in her company, and offers the two of them a smile.

“Zoe, Root,” he says, lifting his beer bottle at them in greeting. “Shaw told me you were coming.”

Zoe gives Root a subtle glance that says _oh, she did, did she_ at the very same moment a pretty, dark-haired woman walks up to them, offering Zoe and Root a friendly smile as she settles in at John’s side. He clears his throat and gestures at the new woman with his free hand. “This is Carter, another cadet. That’s Shaw’s neighbor, Root, and her… our... friend Zoe.”

Root smiles and wiggles her fingers in a little wave. Zoe lifts an eyebrow in amusement at John’s stumbling before extending her hand out for Joss to shake. “Nice to meet you, Carter.”

“Likewise, and call me Joss.”

“You work with John, huh? Shouldn’t you two be shutting this sort of thing down or something?”

Joss laughs a little. “We haven’t graduated _yet_. Until then, a girl can have her fun.”

“My sentiments exactly.” A smirk slowly spreads across Zoe’s face, one that Joss matches. “Oh, we’ll get along just fine.”

“I’m going to flag down one of those drink girls I saw skirting around here. Do you guys want anything?” Joss asks, gesturing vaguely in the direction that most of the waitresses seem to flitting to and fro, most likely an actual bar. They wave her off in the negative, Zoe a tad forlornly, and Joss disappears a moment later.

Much to Root’s amusement, Zoe recovers quickly from her responsibly sober sadness and wastes no time getting her questions out as soon as Joss is gone. “So that’s Carter? I admit, she’s different than I imagined. I like her.”

“Thanks so much for your approval,” John deadpans, and it sounds so similiar to Shaw that Root has to press her lips together to keep from smiling.

“Anytime,” Zoe returns with a wink.

“Do the two of you always have spare time after your little trysts to talk about John’s dating life?” Root asks playfully. John shifts a little in discomfort but, to his credit, doesn’t blush.

Then with a small grin Zoe says, “Only when I tease it out of him,” and John _does_ turn a light shade of red at _that_ \--well, purple, Root supposes, given the neon lights casting a blue glow over all of their faces. The announcer steps into the ring a few seconds after that, and while Zoe and Root chuckle, John just looks thankful for the interruption.

“Are there no preliminaries tonight?” Root asks him over the noises of the announcer hyping up the crowd, a few moments later.

“There never usually is whenever Shaw’s fighting,” John replies. “The people are always too impatient to sit through the prelims, wanting to see the main fight. It took until a riot nearly happened one time for the fight coordinators to decide to just scrap them altogether.”

Just then, the crowd breaks into a chorus of booing as the challenging fighter, a leanly muscular blonde man, steps into the cage as the announcer bellows out his name. Root can’t help but scoff at the arrogant look on his face. She’s never even seen Shaw fight before but she’s already fairly confident that this guy stands no chance against her. “All the way from Chicago, Illinois, let’s hear it for Rick ‘Bulldog’ Dillinger!”

Zoe turns to her and mouths, “he’s sort of cute?” before yelling out an impressively loud _boo_ , coupled with a thumbs-down gesture that she caps with a little shrug when Root incredulously raises her eyebrows in response. He isn’t cute at all, to be honest, but then again, Root has a preference. Or maybe just a flat-out bias.

“And now, it’s the woman you’ve been waiting for; the undefeated terror across all five boroughs, give it up for Sameen ‘The Alpha’ Shaw!”

The crowd erupts into a deafening roar as the cage door opens and, really, Root doesn’t even have a chance to laugh at Shaw’s nickname as she steps into the cage, calm and collected as ever. In fact Root doesn’t actually know _what_ to focus on between the plain black sports bra that’s somehow sexy anyway, her smooth (and yes, delightfully muscled) thighs revealed by the pair of shorts she’s wearing, and her _abs_ , defined and flexing just a little as she walks further into the cage and stands across from her opponent, expression unchanging even as he shoots her a condescending little smile that makes his face look even uglier than it already is.

Zoe, John, and Carter, whom Root hadn’t even noticed had rejoined them, cheer along with the crowd as the announcer finishes bellowing out the single syllable of Shaw’s last name and directs her and Dillinger to touch gloves. Dillinger clearly tries to do it harder than strictly necessary based on the way his smile turns smug, only to falter altogether when her fists don’t give away beneath the extra force and instead stay right where she’s holding them out before her, steady and solid just like Shaw is herself. Root grins at that, and then she’s being ushered forward alongside Zoe and Carter by John, who uses his significant arm span to get them even closer to the cage as the fight’s kicked off.

Dillinger charges for Shaw almost immediately, evidently trying to use the element of surprise in order to get an initial shot in. He’s admittedly quick and, much to Root’s disbelief, Shaw doesn’t move out the way and instead braces herself for it, planting a heel behind her as Dillinger wraps his arms around her waist and attempts to tackle her to the mat. Shaw grits her teeth with the impact but she doesn’t fall, and she brings the point of her elbow down _hard_ between his shoulder blades.

Dillinger’s grip slips from around Shaw’s waist and she uses it to her advantage, flipping him onto his back and sitting astride his hips, but she only gets one shot to his cheekbone in before he’s shoving her off of him and rolling back to his feet. He circles her then and Root notes that Shaw actually lets him, but she isn’t even remotely surprised when Shaw gets tired of waiting, rolling her eyes a bit in annoyance before ducking forward and directing a fist right at his nose.

But then Dillinger side-steps right when it’s too late for Shaw to regain her footing and sweeps one of his legs out, catching her in the ribs with one of his shins. Root lets out a small gasp against her will, thankful that it’s swallowed whole by the loud crowd and even more thankful when Shaw seemingly absorbs the force of the kick, curling one arm around his calf and the other over his shoulders before using all her weight to throw him down on to the mat.

Shaw covers his body with her own and swings for his cheek again. She gets him twice, then Dillinger connects his fist with her own cheekbone, throwing her head to the side. He uses the window to flip their positions, attempting to trap Shaw’s arm in a hold that she easily gets out of, and for a while they’re a mess of arms and legs as they rotate around the mat. Root can tell Shaw gets impatient with the lack of progress she’s making once she rolls off of him and uses his momentary surprise to swing her foot up and kick him squarely in the face.

Dillinger’s head thumps against the mat as blood instantly spurts out of his nose and onto the top of Shaw’s foot, and she wastes no time in crawling back over him. Dillinger’s slow to react, rolling with her so that Shaw ends up on her back, but she curls her arm around his neck and tucks his head at an odd angle against her abdomen, holding him place with her legs locked around his waist. Root watches as he struggles, nose still freely bleeding against Shaw’s stomach, and Shaw’s own nose is scrunched with the effort of holding him. But he’s stuck, the back of his neck is rapidly turning purple due to Shaw choking off his air supply, and Root knows it’s over even before he angrily taps his fist against the mat moments later.

Shaw waits a beat longer before releasing him, right as the trainers and the cage doctor come rushing inside. She shrugs off the attempts to help her back to her feet but does let the ref lift her arm into the air as he declares her winner, a smug smile tugging at one corner of her mouth all the while. Shaw’s eyes flit across the crowd cheering for her through the chainlink cage, inexplicably finding John first because of his massive height right before they drop to Root, and Root swears that her smile widens, just a little bit.

*

Five minutes after the fight is over and Shaw and a very pissed-off looking Dillinger disappear into the locker rooms, John leads them outside and around the building so that they can lean against the wall near the back entrance and wait for Shaw away from the loud, pushy, and drunken stragglers still mulling about the warehouse. Root listens idly as Zoe and Carter hit it off and John tries to prevent Zoe from embarassing him in any way, shape, or form, but they’re interrupted a few minutes later by angry shouting and then the sound of a pained grunt, followed by rattling metal.

John’s the first to react, darting for the door with a stern expression on his face as he flings it open and ducks inside. Joss follows him, then Root and Zoe exchange confused glances before doing the same; it’s only a few steps in before they’re in the locker room, gaping as Dillinger picks himself up from where he’s apparently been bodily tossed against a wall of lockers by Shaw, who’s leaning at an awkward angle, one hand pressed to where he had kicked her in the ribs during the fight. There’s no trace of pain on her face whatsoever, but Root can tell she’s hurting by the way her chest heaves and she doesn’t immediately brace herself when Dillinger finally gets to his feet and swings for her again.

“You fucking b--”

He’s cut off by John, who, out of all things, clotheslines him.

Dillinger goes down with another exhale of air, still-bloodied face crumpled, and John plants one knee on his chest to keep him in place as he leans over him. Root can only see the back of John's head, but there’s a steeliness to his voice that’s new to her as he says, “I suggest you cool off, friend. You lost the fight. You’re not going to win this one either.”

Shaw walks over, doing a very fair job at masking a limp. She curls her hand around John’s shoulder and he stands immediately, backing up a few inches without her having to say anything. Dillinger, despite being freed, doesn’t move and instead scowls and opens his mouth to no doubt spit out another slur, but Shaw promptly knocks him out with a solid crack of her knuckles against his already broken nose. She straightens and turns to face them once she’s sure he’s out cold, scoffing a “dumbass” under her breath and swiping the back of her hand across her bottom lip, which Root now sees has been recently split open. Probably before the four of them rushed in here, and the reason why Shaw had thrown Dillinger in the first place.

“Is it weird that I think that was hot?” Zoe asks after a beat of silence, and Root rolls her eyes and thumps her in the side even as Shaw’s lips curl up in a tiny smirk. “What? You know you’re thinking the same thing,” she tacks on, voice only slightly lower.

“Do you guys plan on just leaving him there?” Joss gestures at Dillinger’s unconscious body; she sounds half-caught between being completely fine with that idea, because he’s an asshole, and not, because she _does_ have a fledgling career in law enforcement ahead of her.

John shrugs, then turns to Shaw, his face darkening into something akin to what Root can only describe as a protective-older-brother expression. “Where the hell is everyone? Hersh?”

“I told them to beat it,” Shaw also shrugs, and her face, too, morphs into what Root can positively call a petulant-little-sister expression. Root, despite the situation, has to keep herself from laughing at the image the two of them paint. Joss even glances at her and Zoe over her shoulder with an incredulous look, though Zoe’s too busy staring at her phone now to notice.

“And why would you do that, Shaw.”

“Because there was too many fucking people in here and I wanted to be alone, what are you, my mother?” Reese’s shoulders tighten at that, but he doesn’t reply and instead gestures at Shaw’s ribs. She’s still favoring them, though there’s no wince as she leans over, snatches a shirt from an open duffel bag, and yanks it over her head. “It’s fine, can we go? I’m starving.”

“Actually, something just came up for me,” Zoe says apologetically, waving her phone in indication. “Work this time, not a booty call.”

Behind Carter, John scowls at the teasing tone in Zoe’s voice.

“Sorry to cut this short, I really did enjoy the show,” Zoe continues, turning to Root. “C’mon big girl, let’s get you home.”

Root fake pouts, “You’re such a workaholic.”

“Somebody has to be the breadwinner in this relationship.”

“You could stay,” Shaw suddenly pipes up. Root glances at her, eyebrows a bit raised, and Shaw glares beneath the sudden attention of everybody else in the room. It looks sort of funny, considering Dillinger is still knocked out at her feet. “I mean--we live in the same building. I could take you home, after we grab a bite.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t, Root.”

“Okay then,” Root concedes, smiling.

“Are _you_ sure?” Zoe asks her in a quiet tone of voice. She curls her hand around Root’s forearm and catches her eye, the unspoken question hovering between them. _Is that safe?_

“I’ll be okay, Zo. You go do what you best,” Root replies, squeezing her hand in reassurance. She’s got two cops-to-be and an MMA fighter with her, and she has Harold’s shadow map memorized. And to be honest, a large part of her is lunging at the opportunity to spend some time with people who aren’t Zoe and Harold, because as much as she loves them and everything they’ve done for her, this is the first major change in her social routine in almost a year. “I’d say I’m in good hands.”

“All right. I’ll call you later,” Zoe says. She grins then, turning to face the others. “I better go. It was nice meeting you, Joss; and Shaw, you kicked ass tonight. John, I’ll see you when I see you, but hopefully not too soon.”

“Hopefully,” John agrees with a kind smile, stepping closer to Carter meaningfully.

Zoe waves them goodbye, leaving through the door they’d all rushed through moments earlier. As it slams behind her, Dillinger moans weakly on the ground, eyes twitching behind his eyelids but remaining closed. The three of them watch him for a moment until Root decides to break the silence.

“Who’s in favor of just leaving him here?”


	10. Consensual Nonsensical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some things:
> 
> this chapter is pretty much pure, unadulterated porn. it's filthy. probably not the _dirtiest _thing i've ever read, but definitely written. the sex (or at least thoughts of sex) don't start until the first asterisk, but then it's full blown porn so do with that what you will! includes oral, fingering, painplay, sex toys, and the dom slightly and unexpectedly jumping out of root (shaw likes it)__
> 
> i had to do research on dildos for this chapter so shout out to the Supreme Silicone 7 Function Thick Black Realistic Vibrator 8 Inch (real title) dick that's sitting in my search history now. 'only 25 bucks, well shit' is what shaw said when she was ordering it way back when sdfjsdfkj

In response to Root’s question, Shaw shares a brief glance with John before the both of them shrug in agreement. To be honest Shaw couldn’t give a shit if that asshole Dillinger choked on the steady stream of blood flowing from his abused nose, but one look at the expression on Carter’s face tells her that the other woman isn’t of the same notion. Luckily the front door to the locker room swings open before they can make any overruling decisions and the four simultaneously turn to watch as the newcomer’s eyes dart between them, fall onto Dillinger’s prone form, and then widen to roughly the size of two large pizzas (Shaw’s rapidly growing hunger may or may not influence that particular description).

“Holy shit, what the hell happened?”

“Dear old Ricky didn’t know how to take a beating like a champ,” Root says, eyeing the scrawny kid curiously. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He inches forward to take a better look at Dillinger before wincing. “Oh, right, sorry. I’m Daniel,” he answers, bringing his eyes up to Root, upon which they immediately widen again. He nervously clears his throat as his cheeks flush, stammering. “Casey. Daniel Casey. I’m, uh…”

Shaw rolls her eyes. Root’s pretty, yeah, but you don’t see her getting all flustered over it.

“You’re this asshole’s trainer’s son,” she finishes for him, curt.

“Yeah, my dad sent me to find him,” Casey replies, not taking his eyes off of an annoyingly amused-looking Root to acknowledge Shaw for more than a few seconds.

Shaw stares flatly at the side of his head, gesturing at Dillinger impatiently. “Well, you found him.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He finally turns away from Root and walks over to Dillinger’s side, nudging him with the toe of his shoe. When he doesn’t budge, Casey half-circles him and makes to drag him by the ankles.

John raises an eyebrow. “Need any help?”

“Nah, I got it,” Casey gasps. Shaw has to fight the urge to call him out on the fact that he’s clearly trying to put on a show for Root, who in turn couldn’t clearly care any less, but she doesn’t. She finds it kind of funny watching him struggle against Dillinger’s dead weight.

“Right,” Joss says doubtfully, side-eyeing the kid’s futile efforts before meaningfully flicking her gaze between John, Shaw, and Root. “We should go. Wouldn’t want to get in his way.”

John turns his head, hiding a smile. Root doesn’t even bother, but Casey is too busy yanking on Dillinger’s limbs to notice.

“Good luck with him,” Shaw snorts as the others duck out the back door.

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it. This guy’s a dick.”

She laughs again, following her friends into the night air, and takes a few long strides that they’re thankfully unable to see so that she can fall back into step with them. When she does John’s eyes are glinting with mirth as he says, “Looks like Root had an admirer, huh, Shaw.”

Carter whacks him on the arm. “Leave the girl alone.”

“Please,” Shaw scoffs, meeting Root’s eyes. “Not like he stood a chance, anyway.”

*

They make it to a 24-hour pizza joint around the corner, some hole-in-the-wall place with outrageously poor security, Shaw notes, right before she steps up to the counter and orders herself three slices. Seriously, this is Queens. There isn’t even a damn camera.

She doesn’t have much time to dwell on the shitty security before her pizza’s done and she’s wolfing it down like John’s going to take it from her, which is unlikely considering the last time he did that resulted in him ending up with a sprained finger. She’d been fourteen and he tried to steal her curly fries, but still: she always gets ridiculously hungry after a fight and right now she isn’t taking any chances.

So she’s unfortunately stuck watching possibly the world’s three slowest eaters finishing their measly single slices after she’s scarfed down her own within the first five minutes of receiving them, and the wait is enough for the adrenaline to resume its low thrum through her veins, just like clockwork.

There’s something about a fight that gets her seriously amped up, even more than usual. The tapout never completely satisfies her, she always leaves the cage with her skin itchy with pent-up adrenaline that won’t simmer down until she properly lets it out. Usually that entails a good fuck, sought out after she ditches John. But right now she’s not only got him to worry about but also Carter--and _Root_ , who she actually volunteered to take home. It was only practical, yes, but Shaw’s antsy with adrenaline right now (literally so; she’s tapping her finger and bouncing her leg and she doesn’t ever get antsy, she hates it) and she’s rapidly missing her window to find a worthy bed partner.

And then Shaw catches Root’s tongue as it darts out to swipe up some stray pizza sauce and she thinks, _unless…_

No. She hacks that admittedly tempting thought to bits before she lets it completely manifest because no, she isn’t going to have sex with someone who she lives next door to and is probably (definitely) friends with just because she’s craving a quick, after-fight fuck. That’s practically screaming nonsensical, which is something Shaw is far from.

Root, because she’s… well, _Root_ , suddenly turns to Shaw, smiles deviously, and then drags her thumb against the corner of Shaw’s mouth. Out of her peripheral she sees John’s eyebrows steadily rise to meet his hairline.

“You had a little something right there,” Root shrugs, then turns back to her food like it’s no big deal. Shaw recovers from her stupor quickly and, okay, somewhat childishly, swiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket and glaring at John. She dares him to say something, really.

She also briefly considers the possibility that Root has some sort of freaky mind powers because no way could she do something like _that_ while Shaw’s also mentally debating sleeping with her by coincidence, but then quickly dismisses that because again, Shaw’s anything but nonsensical.

And having sex with Root is definitely that.

Fifteen long minutes later and Shaw’s standing on the sidewalk in front of the parlor waiting for John and Root to order gelato inside, because of course the two most aggravating people in her life decided they wanted some last minute. She restlessly taps her foot on the pavement and, much to her annoyance, actually jumps when she suddenly hears Carter speak next to her. Thankfully Carter’s subtle (and maybe just kind) enough that she doesn’t call Shaw out on it, and Shaw decides right then and there that she likes her.

“Have you and Root known each other long?”

Shaw pauses her foot-tapping and answers without even having to think about it. “Just short of a month, I guess.” She lets out a scoff. “Feels longer than that.”

Carter smiles, “She looks sort of familiar, but then again I think I’d remember someone like her.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Shaw says, glancing into the parlor over her shoulder just in time to see Root sliding one of the flavor sample spoons out from between her lips. Shaw instantly tears her eyes away from that image before flicking them up towards the sky in annoyance because apparently some sort of higher power is hellbent on testing her resolve tonight.

Her fingers twitch at her sides as she debates just reaching for her phone and sending a text to that lady bartender she’s so far slept with twice. She’d been saving the third and final time for a really special occasion because the bartender is hot and skilled and basically everything Shaw likes in a partner: quick, casual, consentfully convenient, and fun. And it just so happens that that’s the type of sex she’s looking for right now.

It also so happens that Shaw’s been sort of toying with the thought of sleeping with Root for a while and part of her is torn between wanting Root to be all of those things and… _not_ , for some annoyingly deceptive reason.

She’s torn out of her reverie, blinking, as John and Root rejoin them outside, laughing quietly about something that Shaw won’t openly admit she’s curious about. She just eyes them suspiciously before manhandling John into giving her a bite of his tiramisu gelato, which unfortunately also causes her to stretch in a way that her sore ribs don’t exactly agree with.

Nobody notices her wince except Root, whose lips remain pursed around her tiny spoon as she raises an eyebrow. Shaw huffs and glances away.

“Shit, I just remembered I have to be up early tomorrow,” Root says a full minute later, making a show of checking her watch. Shaw can’t help admit that she actually sounds a little convincing, though she does have to suppress an eyeroll as Root looks up at her with a faux apology written all over her face. “Do you mind…?”

The stubborn part of Shaw is enticed to foil Root’s plans of getting her home because she knows her ribs are fucking killing her, but then said ribs that are fucking killing her also trample that temptation to death and she begrudgingly nods.

Root smiles triumphantly right before turning to John and Carter. “Well, it’s been fun kids,” she says.

Carter nods, “It was really nice meeting you. Maybe me, you, and Zoe should get together sometime?”

“That sounds great.” Turning to John with a playful smile, she says, “See you around, Big Lug.”

“Sure, Root,” he chuckles at the apparent inside joke, smiling back before looking over Root’s head at Shaw. “Classes are settling down this week. I’ll send Fusco to pick up Bear tomorrow?”

Shaw doesn’t pout, she _scowls_ , okay, she’s not pouting. But she does cross her arms over her chest and grumble, “Yeah, whatever, I guess,” because she’s going to miss having the furry guy around.

Root huffs a laugh, hooking their elbows. “Come on sweetie, take me home.”

“Ugh,” Shaw groans, shoving her off. The touching does nothing to help the whole inner conflict that Shaw’s going through, but she doesn’t let that show as she stomps back off in the direction of her car with a final wave over her shoulder, Root traipsing behind.

She groans again once they climb inside her sedan and she notices that Root’s still eating out of her gelato cup with that stupidly distracting pink spoon. “You better not get any of that crap on my seats.”

“It’s delicious, want some?” She leans on the middle console and extends the spoon towards Shaw’s mouth. She doesn’t move, even as Root bumps it lightly against her bottom lip. She just keeps their gazes locked, her own eyes flat because she refuses to let the other woman spoon feed her and she refuses to even be remotely tempted in smacking it away so she can kiss her instead. Root sighs, falling back and sitting properly again. “Suit yourself, you’re missing out.”

When Root’s not looking, Shaw licks her bottom lip and tastes mango. And it is good, she begrudgingly (and mentally) admits right before she starts the car and pulls away from the curb.

Root blessedly doesn’t try to test her during the ride. Well, at least not sexually. She does test Shaw’s patience by toying with the radio, but she lets it slide when they both agree that Nina Simone isn’t awful to listen to and Root leaves it on the station, finishing her mango gelato in contentful silence even though it also gives Shaw a chance to grow antsy again, drumming her fingers on the wheel. She can feel Root watching her but she determinedly keeps her gaze forward, praying for the red light to turn to green.

Shaw gets them home in record time and thinks that this is probably also a record for the longest Root’s gone without speaking, but of course that’s broken as soon as the two of them step into the lobby of their building.

“You’re hurt,” she says, making Shaw roll her eyes.

“No shit.”

She starts to head toward the stairs, leaving over to keep the weight off her ribs now that it’s just them two, but Root catches her by the arm and drags her to the elevator instead. If Shaw weren’t suffering from an injury or two she would’ve more than been able to fight her, but as it is she waits until they’re both standing inside of it to again shrug her off.

But Root remains close, even though they have the whole elevator to themselves. Shaw can smell the mango gelato on her lips, her shampoo. She has nice hair. Long. Good for winding around her fist and yanking so that she can bear her neck, Shaw thinks--

She shakes her head. Ugh. Stupid fucking libido.

The doors open and Shaw practically stumbles out. Root follows her quietly and, much to Shaw’s dismay, begins to follow Shaw inside her apartment when she unlocks it with her keys.

She stops in the doorway, glaring over her shoulder. Root notices right in time to keep from colliding with her.

“What?” She asks, looking annoyed. Right. _She’s_ annoyed.

It makes Shaw glare harder.

“What the hell do you think you’re--” But she’s cut off by the foreboding sound of galloping paws and, before she can step out of the way, Bear’s knocking into her legs. She hangs on to the doorjamb to keep from falling over, Root helpfully-but-actually-unhelpfully places her hands on Shaw’s hips, and Bear pants hotly into her face as he hops up and braces his front paws on her shoulders.

Shaw gasps against the strain, but the pain combined with the adrenaline and the fact that Root’s still _touching_ _her_ only makes her blood sing in her veins. Its with a bit of an effort that she regains her balance and gently coaxes Bear down, patting his head to get him to stay--and that’s when she notices Root’s breath lightly puffing against the nape of her neck.

She really, _really_ isn’t making this any easier.

“You can let go now,” Shaw grits out, though it doesn’t sound as harsh as she means it to. Root flexes her fingers before obliging, then brings a hand up to poke Shaw in a region on her back that is dangerously close to her butt.

“In you go, sweetie,” Root says. Shaw growls but shuffles inside anyway, not bothering to try and kick Root out because she physically can’t right now and knows it’d be futile anyway. “Now take off your shirt.”

Shaw stops midway through her journey to her refrigerator and whirls around, face screwed up in indignation (and a few other things too). “What?”

Root rolls her eyes. “Your ribs, Sameen,” she says, gesturing at Shaw’s torso.

A weird combination of disappointment and relief surges through Shaw’s body as she huffs, curling her fingers under the hem of her t-shirt and gingerly peeling it above her head. She thankfully isn’t injured so bad that she can’t lift her arms all the way up; she doesn’t know if she’d survive the embarrassment if the shirt got stuck around her elbows and Root had to help her.

It does still hurt like a bitch though, and she leans back against the breakfast counter, dropping her shirt somewhere to the side and breathing through her nostrils until it subsides. She realizes she’s also squeezed her eyes shut only when she hears Root walk over as opposed to seeing her, and then there are a pair of freakishly cold fingers lightly touching her ribs. Her stomach muscles jump and she sucks in a breath through her teeth, blinking open her eyes to find Root giving her an apologetic look before returning to her inspection.

“They aren’t broken,” Shaw says, because they’re not. Still, she has to clench her jaw to keep from gasping when Root’s thumb finds a particularly tender spot, though it’s not just pain that jolts through her and leaves her feeling a little warm.

She wishes she’d gotten to her fridge. She could really use a beer right now.

“Doesn’t look like it, no,” Root agrees, straightening. She eyes Shaw curiously for a moment (which makes Shaw eye her suspiciously back) before bracketing Shaw’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and gently turning her head to the side before she can protest. “You might have a black eye tomorrow, though.”

Shaw scoffs, “Child’s play.”

Root chuckles and shakes her head before unceremoniously pulling open the drawer beside Shaw’s right thigh, peering inside. “You got any plastic wrap around here?”

“Why? Plan on going all Dexter on me?” Shaw asks with a smirk.

“Ha-ha. Funny, Sameen,” Root deadpans. “It’s for your ribs. They should still be wrapped.”

Shaw opens the next drawer over, revealing a few spools of plastic wrap (turns out Costco comes in handy for these sorts of things, a.k.a. cage fighters prone to patching themselves up at home), but still says as she does so, “Who deemed you the medical expert, huh.”

Picking up one of the spools, she holds it upright and unravels it a bit. Her face remains unchanged, but her voice becomes a little bit distant. “I learned a few things when I was younger. Had to.”

As she leans forward and begins to wind the plastic wrap around her ribcage, Shaw studiously gazes at the tops of Root’s head. Part of her wishes she could just open it up and peer inside, wants to finally figure out what goes on in this woman’s brain; what’s she thinking, who’s she thinking about, what’s happened to her. The other part of her wants to respect Root’s privacy, but she also thinks they’ve wormed themselves into each other’s lives too much already to successfully do that. If Root has to hide some things, fine. But Shaw hopes that Root knows she can confide in her if she needs to, hopes that Root _trusts_ her.

So she asks, voice uncharacteristically tentative, soft, “What do you mean?”

Root’s fingers twitch, her wrapping progress halting infinitesimally before resuming again. Shaw watches her eyebrows draw together and prepares herself for the possibility that Root won’t answer--and if that’s the case, Shaw resolves to not make it weird. She’ll just continue on like nothing happened, she won’t force Root to say anything.

But much to her surprise, after a few more seconds, Root does.

“I didn’t have a spectacular upbringing,” she admits quietly, finishing wrapping Shaw’s torso but not taking her hands or eyes off of it, gently touching the threshold where the edge of the plastic stops at Shaw’s skin. Shaw doesn’t let the contact distract her as Root continues, “Bullies for me, mostly, but my friend… she… she had it rough at home. I had to do this for her more than a few times.”

“In school, John and I were the people who bullied the bullies,” Shaw says.

Root lets out what is probably supposed to be a laugh but just sounds like a puff of air. “My friend did that for me. I was a scrawny thing. But her dad… well, you know how it goes. A big, hulking man uses his fists in the name of discipline and authority,” she spits out bitterly. “He was the sheriff. A single dad, loved by the community. And feared and hated by his only family.”

Without thinking, Shaw reaches forward and curls her fingers just beneath Root’s elbow, squeezing comfortingly, briefly, before dropping her hand back down. She hopes she’s comforting, at least. She’s never been good at this whole thing, but she thinks she’s doing alright, based on how Root’s lips twitch into a tiny, appreciative smile.

“Did she ever get away?” Shaw asks, and just like that the smile disappears. Shaw immediately shakes her head in apology. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

Root doesn’t say anything, just slips the plastic wrap back into the drawer and shuts it with her hips so that she ends up standing beside Shaw, facing the opposite direction. Shaw turns her head to watch her profile, opening her mouth to change the subject, but Root’s speaking again before she can.

“We moved to New York together. Lived in an apartment for three of the happiest years of my life, and then...” Root pauses, looking conflicted. But then she takes a deep breath and finishes. “She died.”

Root doesn’t cry, but her eyes do cast downwards in a way that makes Shaw’s stomach lurch and she holds on to Root’s arm again in an effort to ground her. Root leans into her a little bit, head ducking down so that her hair falls over her face. It should be awkward since they’re facing different directions and since Shaw is usually shit at this, but it isn’t.

“Please,” Root whispers.

“Please what?”

“Please, don’t ask me any more.”

Shaw presses her thumb lightly against the bone in Root’s arm, rubbing back and forth even as her stomach churns with something she thinks may be guilt. “I won’t. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s not that. I _want_ to tell you. All of it. But I,” Root lifts her head, finally meeting Shaw’s eyes, and they’re not brimming with tears so much as they just look… tired. Worn down. “I can’t,” she finishes, sounding defeated.

A beat of silence passes.

And then, without thinking, Shaw does the nonsensical.

Root inhales sharply through her nose as Shaw presses their mouths together. It’s chaste, just a simple locking of lips, unmoving. Root’s eyebrows tickle Shaw’s forehead as they draw together but she relaxes a second later, slowly kissing back as she brings a hand up to curl around the back of Shaw’s neck. And only then does Shaw deepen the kiss, gently sucking at the seam of Root’s mouth until she opens it, lets Shaw’s tongue slip inside.

Their bodies simultaneously turn toward one another then. Root’s hands shift so that she’s bracketing Shaw’s neck between her long, slender fingers and Shaw uses her own to slip underneath the hem of Root’s shirt, splaying them across her lower back. She uses the leverage to turn them around again so that Root’s leaning back against the counter, and she’s gasping into Shaw’s mouth so deliciously that Shaw swallows them up and presses their hips together, grinding, which makes Root reflexively nip at Shaw’s lower lip.

It’s not hard by any means but she hisses with the sharp sting that follows and Root pulls back in concern. Shaw hesitantly swipes her tongue over the sting, tasting blood, and dabs a finger against her lip to confirm it.

“Shit, I forgot that prick got a cheap shot in in the locker room,” she murmurs, sucking her lip into her mouth in order to stem the bleeding. It doesn’t hurt--the slight pain only adds to the arousal roiling in her gut, really, which is only deepened when she looks up and sees the same sentiment reflected in Root’s dark, focused eyes. She’s barely released her lip from between her teeth before Root’s leaning down and sucking it into her own mouth, and Shaw groans against the pressure.

She groans again a few seconds later, this time a tad (embarrassingly) wantonly, when Root experimentally brings a hand down to Shaw’s plastic-wrapped ribs and presses her thumb against that same tender spot from before.

Seems like Root noticed Shaw’s earlier reaction to that, and it seems like she enjoys mixing her pleasure with a little pain too. Shaw’s certainly not going to stop her, not with the way her panties have begun to cling to her cunt, but it does make her realize that she needs to get this show on the road.

Of course, that’s when Root’s phone begins to start ringing: when Shaw’s already got Root’s shirt off and tossed to the side and is halfway to shoving her fingers beneath the cups of her bra.

Root pulls back again, this time with a gasp that fades into an impatient little groan that hits Shaw in the gut (and lower regions). Even so, Shaw watches as she glares down at the caller I.D., face softening a fraction, before she answers the call and holds the phone up to her ear.

“Yeah, hello?” Root looks like she’s trying not to sound like she’s being interrupted in the middle of something important, but Shaw doesn’t think she does a very good job. It makes her smile, which in turn causes Root’s eyes to meet hers before she brings her fingers up and brushes them over Shaw’s mouth. The intensity of her gaze only seems strengthened by the barely audible sound of the voice on the other end of the phone, which momentarily breaks off when Root lets out a hastily bitten-off gasp after Shaw sucks the tip of her middle finger between her lips.

“No, nothing, I’m fine,” Root mumbles into the receiver, eyes wide with arousal. Shaw smirks deviously against her fingertips before wrapping a hand around Root’s bony wrist and dropping it to the side. She crowds her against the counter, stamps her smirk into the curve of Root’s neck in the form of a wet kiss. “Zoe-I-gotta-go-I’m-really-tired-call-you-tomorrow-bye!”

As Root hastily hangs up the phone and tosses it on to the counter with a clatter, Shaw chuckles against her skin. “That was Zoe?”

“Mm,” Root hums in the affirmative, bringing her hand up to cup the back of Shaw’s head. “Making sure I was home safe.”

“‘Safe’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“You’re right, I’d say I’m currently in absolute danger of coming in my pants before you’ve even got a hand shoved into them.”

Shaw grins. “I think I can fix that.”

She waits until they’re in her bedroom to follow through because kitchen sex is all well-and-good but now that Shaw’s thrown all sensibility out the window, she’s got plans, and bruising her knees on the kitchen linoleum eating Root out isn’t one of them, at least not tonight. As soon as she’s pushed Root on the bed she wastes no time in yanking her pants off her incredibly long legs, revealing pale skin that Shaw wants to mark with mouth-shaped bruises, but she saves that thought for later in favor of slotting their hips together, her pelvis pressed against the hot and damp patch of underwear covering Root’s cunt. She grinds them together, doesn’t need Root’s confirmation in the form of the loud, throaty moan she lets out that the seam of Shaw’s own jeans is catching right on her clit.

Shaw thinks she can get Root off just like this and part of her is tempted to if only because it would be immensely hot knowing she made Root come without actually using her hands. But Root _wants_ her hands, and Shaw really wants to fucking touch her anyway, so she only presses her hips against her for a short while longer before standing and shimmying out of her jeans. Root leans up and reaches back to unclasp her bra, watching Shaw with color high on her cheeks.

As soon as she’s completely stripped to her underwear, Shaw covers Root’s body with her own, lets the cups of her sports bra send sparks of pleasure across Root’s nipples and harden them to points. Root lets out a protesting whimper when Shaw parts their lips with a wet smack, but it turns into another gasp when she ducks her head down and sucks a nipple into her mouth, scraping her teeth against the underside before shifting over to show the other the same attention. Shaw breaks away with a laugh when she feels Root’s hands pushing at the top of her head, intent on getting her to go lower, but she ultimately remains where she is and instead slots a hand between their bodies, curling her fingers around the crotch of Root’s panties and dragging them through her folds.

They both let out groans at the same time, though Shaw’s is punctuated by a throaty _fuck_ she can’t keep from spilling out.

“God, you’re wet,” she breathes, because it’s the truth and Root seems to like hearing her voice anyway, based on the way she clenches her muscles and moans. 

Shaw doesn’t tease for long, finds the perfect position to slide two fingers inside of Root and also grind her palm against her clit. She’s a good enough multitasker that she can fuck Root relentlessly while also keeping her mouth on her breasts, biting and licking and sucking until Root is writhing beneath her so much that her knee accidentally bumps Shaw’s ribs and makes her hips jut forward against the hand between Root’s legs. She’s been avoiding Root’s g-spot in order to prolong this but the abrupt movement causes her to nudge against the sensitive patch of flesh and when Root swears, high and raspy, well then you can’t blame Shaw for wanting to hear it again.

Root’s back arches and her entire body goes taut when she comes, muscles straining so much that she’s almost vibrating. Shaw leans back on her haunches, presses the heel of her hand against Root’s clit, and only eases off when Root flops back down a few moments later and exhales a long, shaky breath.

But Shaw keeps her fingers in her, completely still, even as she leans back up and hovers over Root’s face. She’s feeling smug and horny but, most of all, she’s feeling like she wants to get Root off again.

“I’ve got toys in the night stand drawer, you know,” she murmurs, watching as Root’s eyes flutter open.

“Mm, I want your mouth,” Root replies with a shake of her head. Shaw smirk and obliges, standing up and gently tugging Root towards the edge of the bed so that she can kneel between her legs. The upsides to pain or no, Shaw doesn’t think she’ll be able to actually lie on her ribs for too long, or at least not as long as she’d like. Root doesn’t seem to care; either way, she’s getting eaten out.

Shaw starts off gentle, dividing Root’s folds with her tongue and curling up, up, up until she can flick it against her clit, relishing in the way Root’s thigh muscles jump on either side of her head. Root’s moans are much softer this time, breathy and dreamy-sounding but still so hot that Shaw can’t resist finally shoving a hand into her underwear, finding her own clit between two fingers and letting out a wet, muffled groan.

“Yeah, touch yourself, sweetie,” Root suddenly gasps, and Shaw glances up to find her looking down at her, propped up on her elbows. Root’s bottom lip is caught between her teeth and Shaw buries her face harder against her cunt, slipping her hand further downward so that she can curl her fingers inside of herself. Shaw looks up again; Root’s eyes are dark and hot. “Touch yourself, but don’t come.”

Moaning, Shaw shallowly fucks herself on two fingers and desperately avoids her clit because she’s close already and there’s something about the way Root’s commanding her that makes her want to oblige, a shiver coiling down her spine. She doesn’t forget her initial task at hand either, flicking her tongue against Root’s clit but missing the way she groans and tips her head back because Shaw’s eyes are screwed shut and she feels like she’s going to explode, probably.

“Oh, I’m going to come,” Root breathes, “Look at me Sameen, _oh_ \--”

Shaw opens her eyes just in time to watch her tense again, shoulders jerking as she suddenly pushes herself up on her hands and arches back. Letting out a long groan, Shaw pulls her fingers out of herself because the sight is nearly enough to make _her_ come too.

Root falls back again a second later, sated, and lazily gestures for Shaw to crawl back up onto the bed. She laughs at Root’s complete and utter boneless state as she does so, falling beside her with a grin that belies the pressing need she’s feeling between her own legs.

As if reading her mind, Root says, “As soon as I regain feeling in my arms, I’m fucking you with one of your, hm, _toys_.”

“Yeah?” Shaw asks, not even bothering to hide her excitement. Root nods and Shaw leans over to kiss her. “Bossy Root is hot, by the way. But only in bed. Try that shit on me in public, I dare you.”

Root opens her eyes and turns her head to look at her, but Shaw’s smiling and idly twirling a finger around Root’s nipple, so she laughs. “Why not? _Flustered_ Shaw is hot, you know.”

“You’ll have to catch me in a good mood,” Shaw sighs contently, flopping on to her back. “Now c’mon, fuck me.”

“Who’s bossy now,” Root grumbles but sits up and opens the drawer Shaw gestures at anyway. There’s a box of condoms she’d just bought sitting inside, which is convenient for two reasons: one, Shaw’s too impatient to wait for Root to slip into the bathroom and to wash whatever she plans on fucking her with; and two, she’s pretty sure (smugly so) that Root’s arms are working a-okay now, but her legs are probably still a little jellified. A bit of a shame; Shaw wouldn’t have complained if Root decided to fish out the harness she knows is tucked in the back, but her eyes practically light up anyway when she sees the black ridged dick Root has picked out, because it’s her favorite.

“That one vibrates,” she says, already a little breathless.

“Good to know,” Root smiles, rolling a condom onto the toy. “Lube?”

“I think I’m good.” Shaw wiggles out of her panties and tosses them over the edge of the bed, briefly and pointedly dipping her fingers between her legs and wiggling them in Root’s face, wet and shiny.

“Perfect,” Root’s smile stretches into a wide, devilish grin. “You don’t come until I say you can, got it?”

Shaw’s breath catches in her throat, but she still manages a pushy, “yeah, crystal clear, put that fucking thing inside of me already,” in a raspy voice that makes Root chuckle before obliging.

Shaw’s entire back tightens as she feels the head of the dick nudge past her entrance, but she wasn’t lying when she said she was good enough to go without lube. She’s so wet she thinks she might slide right on to the dildo with little resistance were she riding it tonight, but _she_ isn’t the one setting the pace right now, she’s oh-so-helpfully reminded when Root does nothing but take her sweet time.

“ _Root,_ ” she says through gritted teeth when the dick is fully inside her and Root does nothing but seemingly watch her clench around it, needing more. “Come--”

She had been about to say _on_ , but then Root flicks the vibration on to the highest setting, choosing the skippy pattern that almost matches the way Shaw’s heart is beating in her chest.

“Hm, you were saying?”

“Fuck.”

“Very astute, sweetie.”

“Ugh, shut up, just--” Her back arches as Root twists the dick around and the head catches her g-spot, pulsating against it so that her teeth clack together. “Fuck, oh, fuck.”

Root hums, pleased, and crawls up Shaw’s body, settling over her thigh. The resulting wetness from her two orgasms smears across Shaw’s skin, but she doesn’t have enough time to dwell on how hot that is because Root’s suddenly leaning over her, faces inches apart, and reaching back to properly fuck her.

Luckily for Shaw, Root doesn’t mercilessly beat against her g-spot because she doesn’t think she’d be able to follow Root’s simple instructions of not-coming-until-she’s-told if the case were otherwise. But each thrust sends pleasure shooting up her back, making all of her muscles tense with each one, and she throws her arms above her head and fists her hands in her pillow because she may do irreparable damage to Root if she touches her right now, and the last thing she needs is a broken bone in the bedroom.

She doesn’t know how long Root fucks her, but it’s long enough that Root starts grinding against her thigh, has to switch hands when one gets tired and shoves Shaw’s bra up her chest so she can pluck at her nipples. Shaw’s gnashing her teeth into the tender skin of her inner bicep, muffling her shouts because she _does_ have neighbors, one of which is currently fucking her within an inch of her life, yeah, but she doesn’t need any noise complaints, thank you very much, and _fuck,_ she needs to _come_.

“You’re lucky I agree,” Root whispers hotly in her ear, and Shaw’s eyes snap open, not having realized she’d said that out loud. And she’s not fast enough to hold back the insanely loud groan she lets out a beat later when Root skims her hand down Shaw’s torso and finds her clit, pinching in a way that makes Shaw’s back screw up like a spring, teetering on the edge of orgasm. Still, she waits until Root gives her the explicit go-ahead to let it wash over her. “ _Now_ , Sameen.”

Shaw comes. And she comes so hard, clenches so hard around the toy that she thinks she might’ve actually broken it, but then she realizes her senses are just being overloaded by everything and she stops trying to think about anything else altogether. Root somehow knows that she needs to be grounded because she kisses her, swallows the sounds Shaw’s grunting into her mouth until she stops shivering and sinks back into the sheets.

“Off, out, sensitive,” she grumbles like a caveman half a beat later, waving a hand down at the still-vibrating toy inside of her. It’s not her fault Root has turned her brain to mush. Root seems to understand though, because she huffs a laugh and slides the dick out of Shaw, switching it off and dropping it onto the floor after she gets rid of the condom.

“You alright there… _Alpha_?”

If she had the strength to do so right now, Shaw would have dragged her hand over her face. As it stands, all she does is groan.

“You just had to go and ruin it,” she says, voice without genuine heat as she scowls. “I didn’t pick or want that name.”

“I like it,” Root replies.

“Of course you do.”

Root laughs again, falling back on the bed beside Shaw, and this is it. This is where she should promptly tell Root thanks and goodbye, it was fun, you screwed the coherence out of me, see you later and maybe we should do this again sometime.

But fuck it if Shaw knew it wasn’t going to be that simple, even before she kissed her in the kitchen. And fuck it if the thought of kicking Root out now sends something unpleasant steamrolling her insides.

Thinking about it seriously ruins her afterglow, so she doesn’t. Instead she rolls her head to the side and finds Root already facing her, hands folded beneath her head and eyes observing.

“What?” Shaw asks softly, quirking an eyebrow.

“Can’t a girl appreciate the view?”

Shaw rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile that plays at her mouth. “Better appreciate fast.”

Root frowns. “Got someplace to be?”

“Yeah,” she scoffs. “The bathroom.” With that, she sits up and slides out of bed, padding over to the attached en-suite in all her naked glory. She feels Root’s eyes watching her hungrily, but that’s not the reason why Shaw suddenly stops in the doorway and turns her head so that she’s speaking over her shoulder. “Your ass better still be in here by the time I get out.”

In that sentence lies the truth of it all, blaring brightly now that she isn’t directly thinking about it: Shaw wants her to stay.

Root smiles.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sam.”

**END OF PART ONE**


	11. The-Morning-After Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes sorry it's been so long!

**PART TWO**

Root slowly blinks her eyes open, the early morning sun shining through the window above Shaw’s desk and over her face. She stretches, limbs sweetly aching from last night, and turns her head to find the other side of the bed empty and the sheets cold.

Her stomach twinges with something unpleasant for a brief moment before she remembers being promptly woken up what must have been an hour or so earlier by the sound of Bear shuffling around the room, shoving his wet nose against any exposed patch of skin he could find until Shaw had exhaled a groan for the gods, threw the blankets back, and guided him out the door. Root vaguely remembers Shaw muttering something about taking him for a walk, but she had fallen back to sleep before registering anything else. 

The thought that maybe Shaw had also told her to beat it while she was gone crosses her mind, but Root figures that if Shaw truly wanted her out like the guy from the bar a few weeks ago then she wouldn’t have let her stay the night. Either way, they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it. 

For now she resorts to getting dressed, though she has to forgo her bra after not being able to find it for a good five minutes, and slips back into the main area of the apartment in search of her phone.  _ That _ she knows she left on the kitchen counter and when she picks it up she’s shocked to see that she has eight missed messages--all but one of them from Zoe.

ZOE > ‘I’m really tired call you tomorrow bye’? How rude

ZOE > Seriously though are you okay? You sounded weird

ZOE > Root

ZOE > Hellooooo Roooooooot

ZOE > Okay I called John because you have reduced me to Finch-levels of worry and APPARENTLY you went home with Shaw. You couldn’t have just said that on the phone?

ZOE > WAIT A SECOND HOLY SHIT

ZOE > If you're doing what I think you’re doing YOU BETTER CALL ME TMRW OR ELSE!

Root chuckles, opting to call Zoe later when she’s back in her own apartment, before scrolling to the message that isn’t from her detail-greedy friend.

SHAW > Getting breakfast, hope you like bagels. If not then last night was a questionable decision

She  _ does _ reply to that one, grinning and feeling a warmth bloom in her chest that makes her grateful that nobody else is in the apartment to see her.

ROOT > Good thing I like bagels then.

SHAW > About time you woke up. You drool all over my sheets?

ROOT > Out of everything that happened last night, drool is the body fluid you’re most worried about?

SHAW > Ugh you’re seriously killing my bagel high. I’m on my way back home now weirdo

Root snickers as she locks her phone without replying, placing it back on the counter and deciding to use the small window of opportunity she has left to look around Shaw’s apartment. She has no plans to  _ snoop _ by any means but she really has nothing better to do, and a very large part of her has always been curious as to what this place looked like ever since she first laid eyes on Shaw in the hallway. Root had been too occupied last night to glance around, but now she slowly walks the perimeter of the living room, taking everything in.

To be honest, there isn’t much  _ to _ take in. The place is inherently Spartan but somehow not lacking in personality at the same time. She can feel Shaw’s presence throughout every inch of the apartment, from the neatly folded navy throw hanging over the back of the couch to the lone picture of Bear framed and sitting on the TV stand; Root’s not that surprised to find a train of books neatly lined up inside of the stand’s cubby where a collection of movies would go, trailing her fingers across the different spines. Most of them are medical journals, but she does come across a copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice  _ that makes her smirk as she opens it to one of her favorite passages and reads it with a trailing finger.

She’s interrupted by a rapt knock on the front door, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. When it opens she’s fully expecting to be greeted by Bear running at her full force for a pet in greeting and the sight of Shaw looking adorably grumpy behind him but instead she finds John poised in the doorway, an eyebrow raised in question at her half-squat position in the middle of the living room.

“Lurch,” she says, tipping her head to the side.

“Root,” he replies. After a brief pause he gives her another quizzical look. “I thought you had something to do this morning?”

She presses her lips in a smile and lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “An excuse,” she admits, “because I had something to  _ do _ last night.”

Root watches with barely suppressed amusement as a slideshow of expressions flick across John’s face, ranging from confusion to dawning realization to mild discomfort to, finally, something that looks distinctly like happiness. Her amusement quickly morphs into a weird feeling, like she’s receiving her own big brother’s blessing.

“Is Shaw around?” John asks after a moment, lips still stretched in a tiny smile.

She shakes her head, “Went to get breakfast.”

“Breakfast, huh?” He finally closes the door, walking into the kitchen and making himself a cup of coffee using the Keurig machine pushed into the corner. Root raises her eyebrows in reaffirmation when he turns around, waiting for it to brew. “That’s fine, I just need Bear anyway.”

Before Root can tell him that he isn’t here either the door opens revealing Shaw, holding two to-go cups of coffee in her hand and a folded paper bag between her teeth. She scowls at John as soon as she sees him and Root has to suppress a smile because really, the sight’s more than a little endearing.

“The hell are you doing here?” Shaw asks after spitting the paper bag out onto the counter. She spares a betrayed look towards Bear as he instantly leaves her side to greet John before handing Root one of the coffees, which she takes with a grateful smile. 

John looks smug as he reaches down to scratch behind Bear’s ears. “Picking up my dog.”

“You said Fusco was getting him,” Shaw replies, still frowning.

“Work came up. They found a body in Chinatown, it’s connected to a case he’s been working on for a while,” John explains with a shrug. “Problem?”

Shaw glares for a second more before answering. “No,” she says, snatching the paper bag off of the counter and unrolling the top. She reaches in and pulls out two wrapped bundles that smell even better than the coffee; they nearly have Root drooling. Shaw pointedly hands her one as she stares at John. “But I didn’t buy you shit and we aren’t sharing.”

“I can’t stay anyway. I’m meeting Carter.”

Shaw, who’s already taken a huge bite of what is apparently a steaming bagel sandwich, snorts through her mouthful of food. 

“You get lucky last night?”

John raises his eyebrows, smiling pleasantly and darting his eyes between her and Root. “Did you?”

To Shaw’s credit she manages to keep from spluttering her breakfast all over the counter, but Root sees the exact moment where she has to regain her composure. Root pointedly nudges Shaw’s coffee, earning her a glare even as Shaw picks it up and takes a sip to clear her airway.

John chuckles, wrapping Bear’s leash around his hand. “I should go. Make sure she doesn’t choke, Root.”

“Don’t worry, I know CPR,” Root replies in a suggestive tone, waving him off. He starts to move for the door but Shaw bodily cuts him off, kneeling down in front of Bear. Root watches with a half amused, half fond feeling in her chest as Shaw’s face adorably scrunches when Bear licks a fat stripe up her cheek, her fingers disappearing into the thick fur on his neck. 

Groaning, John tugs on the leash. “You’re going to make me late.”

“Shut up,” Shaw grumbles, standing up anyway. She holds Bear’s gaze for a little while longer before sighing. “Don’t be a stranger, buddy,” she tells him.

John rolls his eyes. “We’re not moving across the country.”

“Even if you were, who says it’d be  _ you _ I’d miss?”

Root snorts into her coffee.

“I’m going to go before you say something really hurtful,” John says, fake wounded. He waves goodbye to Root and tugs on Bear’s leash to get him walking. The open door blocks the hand gesture Shaw throws up at John once she sees him out, but Root doesn’t really need to see to know what it is.

Root smiles into her sandwich as Shaw comes back over and immediately resumes devouring her own food, but she stops after a moment and glances up at Root, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” She asks, though it’s less confrontational than usual. Softer, even if it’s spoken through a combination of egg, bacon, and bagel.

“Nothing, just…” Root shrugs. “This is kinda nice.”

Shaw visibly swallows, breaking eye contact with Root as she apparently decides what to say next. As she waits a small knot forms in Root’s stomach, something she thinks might be nerves. 

She doesn’t know what she expects Shaw to say, but she’s braced for the likely response. At best, Shaw will probably want her to leave but with the casual proposal that they repeat last night’s events sometime. At worst, Shaw will still want her to leave, but then she’ll spend the rest of their days as neighbors avoiding Root in the lobby and hallway. It’s definitely far-fetched and more than a little unlikely (because Shaw is a mature adult), but as of late Root has fallen into the habit of preparing for the worst.

What Shaw actually does is swallow the rest of her sandwich, lick her lips, and meet Root’s gaze with a sort of tentativeness that is definitely new on her but also a good look, Root thinks.

“I don’t usually… ever… do this,” she admits with a shrug, gesturing between them at the same time. “You know. The-morning-after thing. You’re the first.”

Root raises her eyebrows. “Well, Sameen, I’m honored.”

Shaw scowls. “Forget it.”

“No, I’m not teasing,” Root amends, watching as Shaw’s expression somewhat relaxes. “Seriously. I’m happy you didn’t kick me to the curb when it was all over. I mean you easily could have, it’s not like my walk of shame would have been terribly long.” She pointedly looks at the wall connecting their apartments, spotting Shaw’s tiny grin out of her peripheral.

“Even if I’d wanted to, you kind of screwed me into exhaustion. I probably would have been able to order you out at best.”

“Order, hm?” Root hums, leaning forward and darting her eyes from Shaw’s lips and back up again.

Shaw doesn’t back down, staying right where she is even as Root inches closer. “Hmm,” she agrees noncommittally.

“Like you were ordering me around in bed?” Root asks. “Oh, wait. That was the other way around, wasn’t it?” She stops just short of their noses touching, refuses to blink as she and Shaw engage in a mini staring contest that ends with Shaw scoffing first and glancing away while Root giggles triumphantly and swoops forward to capture her bottom lip between her own. 

Shaw immediately kisses her back, her knuckles pressed against the underside of Root’s breast where her hand is resting on the counter. 

“You liked it,” Root mumbles against her mouth. She feels more than sees Shaw roll her eyes, her eyelashes brushing Root’s skin with the movement.

“No shit,” she replies. “I can go either way, though.”

Root leans back with a grin, knowing her eyes are sparkling with suggestion. “I’m so glad you said that,” she says. “I can, too.”


End file.
